Union
by Fanwoman
Summary: Weir must travel offworld to secure a treaty to help feed Atlantis, but the mission has unexpected side effects. Set in season one.
1. Press

NOTES: For McWeir fans who've been waiting for my promised lighter story, this is it. I hope you like it. For those of you who aren't McWeir fans, please give it a try; you might like it, too. I enjoyed the little mentions of Stackhouse's team throughout season one, and since they fit perfectly into my plot, I'm using them. According to the imdb, Stackhouse's teammate from Japan is "Yamato." Which leads to the question: who the heck is picking the Japanese names? Kusanagi and Yamato? Couldn't they choose something a little more believable? Anyway, there's been no mention of ranks for Yamato or Lumano, so I guessed. While Mr. Mallozzi has suggested there was no Chef in the original expedition, I suspect Mr. Mallozzi has never tried to feed 100ish people three meals a day. If he had, he'd know it would be idiotic for them to not have taken at least one person whose sole responsibility is to cook, so my story has a Chef. (I think not taking a quarter master is foolish, too.) Since this is set during season one, I'm using season one sets. So, please, no reviews saying "but her office is big." Originally, it wasn't. Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people. Dr. Tamura's mine, though.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T

* * *

UNION 

PART 1

PRESS

Between his tactful nature and extensive international experience, Sergeant Stackhouse was turning into quite the ambassador for Atlantis. Of course, one of the skills of a successful diplomat is knowing when to seek the influence of a higher authority. Dr. Elizabeth Weir couldn't help but smile as she reviewed his report in preparation for her trip to Valoosa.

_We arrived just after dawn, Valoosa time. The closest settlement is about 5km south of the Gate. They use the patchwork method of farming we've seen on other planets. We were able to identify three different fruit crops, some sort of ground crop and possibly a shrub nut. I dared Cpl. Lumano to try some of the fruit, but he chickened out._

_The town is called Keth. Their buildings are mostly above ground in wooded areas. It's a nice enough place, though I wouldn't want to live there. The locals are friendly, but they have some odd notions. Seems Valoosa's axis is at an extreme angle, and its orbit is fairly elliptical. So the seasons are pretty severe. This makes them even more uptight about time than other agrarian worlds we've visited. Dr. Corrigan finds it fascinating; I find it inconvenient. They insist we come again with our leader at what will be approximately 1400 hours tomorrow for some sort of end-of-planting celebration. If we can manage that, they seem willing to trade with us. I'm up for it if you are._

_We talked with the "overseers" of Keth; metal headbands indicate their office. His name is Uvry, about 5'10", brunette, scar above his left eye, buff enough, seemingly fond of the color gold and hard cheese. His wife is Bess, about 5'6", brunette, plump, likes shiny fabric and pickles. They talk to each other in half sentences and finish each other's trains of thought, but they're easy enough to follow. They're the main ones you'd be speaking with._

_These people are really into population growth. It's their cultural response to the Wraith, but I'm sure Dr. Corrigan's report will give you enough details on that. So they're interested in folic acid, infant nutrition and medical aid during their "birthing season." They'll trade food for these things. Their harvest won't be ready for months, but they're willing to share the surplus of their perishable spring crops in the meantime. Halling says they're good for it, and he has already offered us a fancy gold jar filled with pickles to smooth things along. I recommend boots that can get mucky._

Having had no way of knowing what they might face once they arrived in the Pegasus Galaxy, Elizabeth had packed a variety of clothes, but the only shoes she had that were meant to handle muck were her military boots. Even to eyes unaccustomed to Earth clothing, she knew they'd look strange with her suit. Fortunately, the women of Atlantis had become fairly close-knit. Dr. Tamura was the same size and busy with lab work that week, so she was happy to lend Elizabeth field boots for the cause, particularly if it meant getting her hands on new edible plants. The botanist's interest was not merely professional; Dr. Tamura was also a capable cook who often filled in on Chef's days off. With the Athosian harvest still some weeks away, Elizabeth was looking forward to expanding the city's food options as well as finding out what their resident gourmet might make of fresh fruits and vegetables.

With less than twenty four hours between the return of Stackhouse's team and their scheduled participation in Valoosa's celebration, the results of their medical exams had to be a bit rushed, but Carson gave them all a clean bill of health. Elizabeth was nearly as grateful for not having to endure potential inoculations as she was for Dr. Tamura's boots.

Based on Dr. Corrigan's assurances they would be well fed during the festivities, she'd had a light lunch only to realize afterward, in her enthusiasm to prepare, she was left without much to do as she waited for their departure time. Elizabeth had just finished reviewing the anthropologist's report for the third time when she sensed someone enter her office. There was only one person who did that without knocking or asking for her invitation.

"Your first away mission?"

Glancing up from her monitor, she smiled at her Chief of Science. His expression was apprehensive, his shoulders tense, chin tucked, as though he was expecting a conflict. "Yes, Rodney. Here to give me a few pointers?"

"You're not taking a gun." It was neither a question nor a statement, more of an accusation.

_How did he manage to find that out?_ she wondered. _...And why?_

Shutting down her computer, Elizabeth turned her full attention to the astrophysicist. "They're potential allies, and I'll be accompanied by four armed men, three of whom are career military." She stood up and gestured at her pant suit. "Besides, where would I put it?"

He looked her up and down, unable to hide a brief grin and an appreciative gleam in his eye, a gleam that was especially inappropriate given the fact that she was his superior. She'd caught that fleeting look a few times before. But he'd never said anything, and there was no rationale for reprimanding someone because of a look. To do so would likely be more detrimental to her than to him, for it would suggest she was too sensitive and not concerned about more important issues. It was one of the double standards of being a woman in power.

In a way, it was almost comforting. Not only did his glance reveal Rodney was just as human as any other man on the base, it reassured her she was a woman. Certainly, she was not the only woman who'd been subjected to that assessing gaze. So in that light, his regard for her wasn't unique, but he was the only man who saw her as a woman and couldn't hide it. To everyone else, she was the untouchable leader. To Rodney, she was Elizabeth. True, he'd call her "Dr. Weir" when the circumstance demanded it or he was feeling peevish, but he dealt with her as a person, not a position.

Aside from that, his responses were normally so transparent that she was certain it would be obvious if he meant any disrespect. Sometimes, she couldn't help but be amazed and even a bit envious how he expressed himself so openly, often using his whole body to help convey his point. Even more remarkable was that he usually seemed completely unaware of it. Being able to read him did not, however, make handling him a simple matter.

Elizabeth had put great effort into cultivating a comfortable relationship with the high-strung Canadian. It helped that he needed her approval as much as she needed his expertise, but to get the most out of him, she'd known she would have to accept all of him. He clearly felt personality was irrelevant when it came to the pursuit of their goals. Ultimately, he was right, but that didn't make it easy for everyone to deal with him. The resignations of a three lab assistants, two engineers and a department head during his first month in Antarctica were a testament to that fact.

Knowing direct criticism of his behavior would only have caused him to shut himself off, she'd chosen an indirect approach. She teased him. With a jesting smile or a disapproving frown, she would pose questions that would lead him to the perspective she wanted. As a man who valued his intellect above all else, he couldn't resist answering her questions. It was always satisfying to see the spark of realization in his eyes, and her slow progress with him did wonders for the morale of those working alongside him. When the time finally came for her to exert her authority over him, Rodney had accepted it because he knew she wouldn't criticize him unless it really mattered. Right now, she was confident she could coax him to see her point of view.

He jutted out his chin defiantly. "The armory has a few shoulder holsters, and Margaret Patal has one that fits around your waist."

The SAS officer had already volunteered the loan of her personal firearm, but Elizabeth wasn't about to tell Rodney that. Instead, she walked around her desk and pointed at her borrowed boots. "Based on the reports, I'm going to need these, not a gun."

"That's no excuse to go unarmed," insisted Rodney.

"I'm a bit surprised to hear you so adamant about this issue, given your past opinion of the military."

"Nearly being turned into a pincushion by deadly children and getting hit by a Wraith stunner will do that to you."

Nodding, she leaned against her desk, but her casual pose didn't inspire him to relax. "All right. But from all the reports I've read, a handgun doesn't do much good against a Wraith."

"That's not the point." He raised his hands, fingers splayed, to shake them for emphasis.

"And I don't recall you pressing Carson to carry a weapon when he went to Hoff."

"He's a physician, and we'd already established relations with the Hoffans."

"I'm a diplomat, and we've already established relations with the Valoosans."

Rodney turned away from her and began to pace the narrow confines of her office.

_Why is he so determined about this?_

She was tempted to point out that Major Sheppard had voiced no concerns, but she suspected part of her CoS's agitation was due to the Major not backing him up. If the Major had agreed, he'd be there, too, but bringing that up would only increase the scientist's irritation. "Look, Rodney..."

He spun to face her. "Let _me_ go instead."

The idea of sending Rodney on a diplomatic mission nearly caused her to laugh out loud, but she managed to limit her reaction to a grin. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

Brow furrowed, he took a step closer and jabbed a finger behind him. "Every time someone walks through that Gate, there's no telling what might happen on the other side. What is there _not_ to be serious about?"

She could tell he was struggling to keep his voice at a normal volume, but his tone was still emphatic. Unwilling to be caught up in Rodney's stress, she cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "You seldom seem this anxious when you go, yourself."

"You of all people should know appearances can be deceiving, Elizabeth. Besides, I _have_ to go." He poked his sternum with vigor. "There are some things only I can do."

"And there aren't things only I can do?"

Her verbal checkmate caused him to step back. "That's not what I meant," he said defensively.

His awareness of his verbal blunder surprised her. "I know it's not. Why don't you tell me what you _do_ mean?"

"I..." He glanced away, his hands fidgeting as they often did without something to occupy them. After a long moment, he looked back, anxiety peeking around his aggravation. "Why does it have to be you?"

_Hardly an answer, Rodney._

"Why shouldn't I be the one to go?"

"Because there's only one of you."

It was as close to a sentimental statement as she'd ever heard from him. Some part of Elizabeth found it very endearing, in a Rodney McKay sort of way, but she just smiled. "And there's more than one of you?"

His hands flew up in frustration. "I'm not the only astrophysicist in Atlantis, and I'm willing to carry a gun! Elizabeth, if anything were to happen-"

"Nothing's going to happen."

"Yes, but if you were to-"

"I'll be fine."

The sound of someone clearing their throat caused both of them to turn. Sergeant Stackhouse stood at ease in the doorway that lead back to the control room.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"We're ready to go when you are, ma'am."

"Thank you. I'll be right there."

But Rodney reached out and stopped the younger man before he could leave. "Stackhouse, maybe _you_ can convince her to carry a weapon."

The Sergeant had hardly opened his mouth before Elizabeth cut him off. She wouldn't let anyone else get dragged into their debate. "Rodney, that's enough. Just let it go." She used a tone that would brook no argument and gave her CoS a frown.

With a sigh, Rodney let go of Sergeant Stackhouse's elbow. "Well...good luck, then, and be careful."

The Sergeant prudently said nothing, merely nodding and offering a stalwart smile. After all, what did he need to say? His team had the best safety record, one that put the Major's team to shame.

In an attempt to deflect some of the unease between them, Elizabeth offered Rodney a smile as she followed the Sergeant out of her office. "Try not to sink the place while I'm gone," she teased, but it only drew a grim huff out of him. She could feel Rodney's gaze follow her as she crossed the catwalk to Control.

Peter Grodin was manning the DHD. He offered her his tightlipped grin and a "Good luck" as she passed. Rodney and the younger scientist had relinquished dominion over the Gate systems once the control teams had mastered the Ancient equipment, so Elizabeth couldn't help but suspect Peter's involvement was due to the fact she was the one departing. Peter and Rodney had a valid reason to be concerned about her well-being. Despite the relative ease with which the academic and military components of the Atlantis team worked together, there were still ingrained tensions beneath the surface, tensions that would no doubt erupt if the expedition's leadership fell into military hands. Fortunately, the technical staff did what they could to not be caught in the middle. If the control team didn't mind and it made Peter and Rodney feel a bit more in control, a bit more secure about her safety, then what harm was there?

At the foot of the stairs, she and the Sergeant were met by the rest of his team. Half a head shorter, wearing the typical scientific beige and blue and carrying a golden jar of pickles instead of a P90, Dr. Corrigan stood out from his teammates. Not only were his appearance and stature different, the others all carried themselves with that comfortable readiness of military men. The anthropologist greeted her with a congenial smile. "Good afternoon, Dr. Weir."

"Good afternoon, Dr. Corrigan." She nodded to the other two. "Gentlemen."

"Ma'am." Corporal Lumano nodded in response. If he had any qualms about being partially responsible for the personal safety of the leader of Atlantis, it didn't show. Although none of the team members were out of shape, the Corporal was, by all accounts, the muscle of the team. Thanks to his brawn, they'd once procured an extra 25 kilograms of flour from a treaty that included the stipulation they could only have as much as they could carry.

The group was rounded out with Haruhiko Yamato, one of Atlantis' multinational military members. Calm, keen-eyed and laconic, according to Stackhouse's reports, the JSDF Lieutenant had no qualms being under the authority of a US enlisted man and had pointed out a number of details that had proven vital to the success of several missions. He gave her the unconscious half bow of a Japanese native and replied, "Good afternoon," with only the subtlest of accents.

Behind them, the Gate began locking in chevrons as Peter dialed Valoosa's address. Without a word, Stackhouse and Lumano took up positions in front of her to either side while Yamato and Corrigan took up the rear. They had done this many times before and gave the impression it was natural to them, no more remarkable than a ride in an elevator, but Elizabeth's heart was racing. This would be the second time she had ever stepped through the Stargate.

Glancing back, she caught sight of Rodney watching from the overlook where she usually observed the teams coming and going through the Gate. He was hunched over the railing, gripping it with a palpable ferocity, his mouth set in a thin-lipped grimace. Was it any wonder his teammates had steered clear of the Gateroom today? Something about him reminded Elizabeth of her father when she'd gone on her first date. The thought made her smile and calmed her speeding pulse. His expression softened in response, with worry overcoming the frustration in his eyes. "Good luck," he mouthed wordlessly. With a nod, she turned back to the Gate as the last chevron locked into place and the event horizon burst into existence with a dramatic whoosh.

Sergeant Stackhouse turned to her expectantly, never offering any doubt as to who was in charge. "Ma'am?"

"Let's go!"

Stepping through, she felt the cold and disquieting sensation of her body being demolecularized as the Stargate transported her to another world.


	2. Counting Beans

NOTES: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I've been working on Union for a long time, so I hope you'll continue to enjoy it. This chapter--Weir gets to go offworld, and we learn about Valoosa. It's a long one, but it'll get us where we're going. Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people; Valoosa all things associated with it belong to me.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T

* * *

UNION 

PART 2

COUNTING BEANS

They stepped through the Gate into a cool spring morning. Elizabeth found herself atop a small hill, surrounded by arching trees covered in the first pale blush of leaves. Here and there, clumps of flowers were in full bloom while other plants were just waking from winter. Ominous clouds threatened the horizon, yet the sky was bright and filled with birdsong. There was no scent of salt in the air. It reminded her of the Mid-Atlantic region and caused an unexpected pang of homesickness.

_Has it really been less than a year since I left DC?_

Such musings were quickly set aside as a half dozen Valoosans climbed the hill to greet them. There were three men and three women, none of whom carried weapons or gave the impression of being militarily inclined. Although their clothing was better tailored than that of the Athosians, the colors were plainer, with both men and women wearing browns and greens that blended with their environment. The layering of superfluous clothing, common among the rich and powerful throughout much of Earth's history, was absent in these leaders of Keff. Their garb was practical, and all of them wore knee-high boots. Uvry and Bess headed the group, only their slender silver circlets distinguishing them from the rest.

Smiling, Elizabeth spread her hands wide and bowed--the customary greeting, according to Dr. Corrigan's report. Uvry and Bess responded in kind.

"Welcome to Valoosa, Dr. Weir," said Uvry.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," smiled Bess.

"The pleasure is mine." Elizabeth brought her hands together over her stomach and bowed again. "Thank you for this opportunity of friendship and trade. I have brought a gift of gratitude."

At this, Corrigan handed her the gallon-sized golden jar of pickles he'd been carrying, and she held it out to her hosts.

"Look at that!" Bess smiled, happily accepting the heavy jar and cradling it on one arm as though it weighed nothing. "We're already familiar with Stackhouse and his fellows, and I'm guessing you already know who we are. Let us introduce you to the rest." She swept her free hand to indicate the people behind her, a brunette and a redhead. "This is Nals and Keffenan, master and mistress of the nursery."

"And this is Tiv and Tolly, the keepers of accounts," concluded Uvry, gesturing to the couple behind him. Although Elizabeth had heard there were some among the Hoffans, Tiv was the first true blond she had met in Pegasus. Tolly's hair was jet black with eyes nearly as dark. They made a striking couple.

Elizabeth bowed to each in turn, exchanging salutations, then they set off down the hill, following an indistinct path to the right. The trail was narrow enough that they were forced to walk two at a time. With Uvry in the lead by himself, Bess walked with Elizabeth, taking her guest's arm as though they were old school chums. "Dr. Corrigan says your culture is not agrarian."

Uvry looked back with an understanding smile. "So we know it's possible you've never participated in a planting."

"Besides," said Bess. "Based on our trading-"

"We know not everyone is capable of raising this particular crop," concluded Uvry.

"It's the last unplanted field of it's kind."

"One of our essential grains. We save it for this celebration." The way her host talked without looking back all the time made it seem he was having a conversation with the bushes and saplings along the path. Elizabeth had to stifle her amusement as she recalled her first time meeting Dr. Daniel Jackson, how she'd seemed to be crazily talking into the air as she'd conversed on a nearly invisible headset.

"Since the planting of this field is largely ceremonial-"

"For those of us in positions of authority to symbolically demonstrate our conviction to our people," interjected Uvry.

"And some of those participating are our eldest," continued Bess, "it's not as strenuous a task as you might think."

Uvry looked back with a wink. "So don't worry about how well you do."

"It's your doing it that matters to us," agreed Bess.

They mounted a slight rise. Below them stretched a vast field that seemed less of a patchwork, as Stackhouse had described it, than a tapestry. Not a single straight line was visible anywhere. Narrow tracks wove in and out of strips of bushes and seedlings in various stages of growth. No single section was more than about ten feet across nor three times that in length. Just thinking of the effort it must take to plant in such a way on such a scale boggled her mind. The logistics alone must have been astounding. The largest feature of the field was what appeared to be a pond. About twice the size of the Gateroom and roughly egg shaped, it was surrounded by hundreds of people and green pennants, which hung limply in the still air.

A child's voice was heard clearly above the murmur of the throng, calling, "There they are!"

The murmur became a dull roar as people shouted greetings to the various members of the party.

"Glad you borrowed the boots?"

Elizabeth barely heard the quiet question from Corrigan above the noise of the crowd, but she detected in it thinly veiled mirth. It was then she realized the pond _was_ the ceremonial field.

_Essential grain, huh? Why'd it have to be rice?_

She did her best not to think about how some of the ancient rice paddies of Earth were fertilized and plastered a big smile on her face as they reached the edge of the gathering. Half a dozen people, all male and ranging in age from about ten to thirty, broke off from the others to greet Uvry and Bess. From their features, Elizabeth guessed they were the children of her host and hostess.

"Mardin," Bess addressed the eldest of them, "would you take this for me?" She handed him the jar of pickles.

"Just drop it by our place after the ceremony," added Uvry.

Knowing that complimenting someone's children was a common courtesy on Valoosa, Elizabeth commented. "They seem like fine young men."

"Thank you," the couple said in unison.

"Jess will finish his smithing apprenticeship this season." Uvry slapped the beefiest of his children on the shoulder with pride. The young man smiled shyly under his father's attention.

_He could take on Lumano in arm wrestling._

"Mardin is a master of the orchards." Bess nodded to her sons in turn. "Toron will be heading out to fish the seas once the celebrations are complete."

Her husband continued. "Uvriss tends the flocks. Nals is a planter and weaver."

"Named for his uncle?" Elizabeth guessed.

"Exactly!" Bess beamed. "And Valin's following the physician's track." She soothed her youngest son's sandy locks under one hand. The blue-eyed child stared at their guest with unabashed interest.

"Perhaps you'll get to teach Dr. Beckett a thing or two when he visits," smiled Elizabeth.

"It would be an honor to speak with him."

"Is it not an honor to speak with Dr. Weir?" admonished the boy's father.

"Of course!" He dipped his head in apology then boldly declared. "You are very beautiful, Dr. Weir. Would you consider becoming my wife when I am of age?"

_What would Simon have to say about that?_

Over Bess' gasp, Elizabeth distinctly heard a stifled snigger from one of the men behind her but resisted the urge to look back to find out which one it was. Kneeling so she was closer to the boy's height, she kept her smile sincere and said, "You are a very handsome young man with a noble track ahead of you. I'm sure any woman would be privileged to have you as a husband, but my people do not approve of such a disparity in age."

"Nor do ours," chided Bess. "Now off with you lot. We haven't even given our guests refreshments, yet." She waved away her children and took Elizabeth's arm, again, guiding her to a small pair of tents where large pots bubbled thickly with some savory-scented brew. They were greeted by servers with trays of steaming earthenware mugs. First a young woman gave Bess and Elizabeth drinks then left, ignoring the men. A few moments later, a male server provided the men with mugs of their own.

"Our people drink these beverages to invigorate them for the coming planting and the season ahead." Uvry raised his mug. "Prosperity to all."

For some reason, Elizabeth was reminded of the Star Trek saying, "live long and prosper." It had never ceased to surprise her in how many far-flung places she'd stumbled across that phrase on Earth, a testament to the show's global appeal. In a world preyed upon by Wraith, perhaps no one even thought to wish for long life, or maybe it was considered tempting fate. Was it any wonder, with such an extreme climate and relentless foe, that Valoosan culture had evolved so many socialist tendencies? The fate of each person was tied closely to those around them, so it was plainly obvious how prosperity for all meant prosperity for one's self as well.

"Prosperity to all," they intoned together then drained their mugs.

Elizabeth was a bit startled to find a small, hard-boiled egg in her drink, about the size of a quail's. It had absorbed the flavors of the hearty broth and was one of the tastiest things she'd eaten since she'd left Earth. It surprised her how much she relished something so simple, but eggs were a precious commodity on Atlantis. Powdered were the norm, yet on the occasion fresh were procured, they never lasted long enough to be hard boiled.

"That was delicious."

Uvry smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Weir."

"We're so glad you liked it," said Bess.

Belatedly, Corrigan and the others expressed their appreciation, which made Elizabeth wonder, _How different were our drinks?_

After returning their empty mugs to a server, Bess declared, "It's time we parted."

"Meet you in the middle." Uvry gave his wife a quick kiss and headed off to the left side of the paddy.

Bess led Elizabeth to be rejoined by Tolly and Keffenan and a number of other women on the right side of the field. A few of them gave Stackhouse and his team odd looks, ranging from offended to amused, but none commented on her bodyguards' presence on the ladies side. They offered her a long pair of gloves and a short leather tunic, which she gratefully accepted, along with Bess' help in putting them on. Then she was handed a box of seedlings and declared ready to plant. Wading into the paddy, she felt as graceful as a wallowing water buffalo. Stackhouse and his men remained dutifully impassive, but even professional detachment couldn't prevent amusement from sparkling in Corrigan's eyes. Worse, he was recording it all--from behind no less.

_I'll get that tape from him by the end of the day, or I'm no Weir!_

With the men at one end and the women at the other, they worked their way toward the center. Elizabeth recalled documentaries about various Asian countries that included segments on planting rice. The water and seedlings and back-aching labor were the same, but the method was completely different. Instead of planting in straight rows, the Valoosans used a seemingly random pattern, with the distance between the rows varying and from two to four seedlings planted in each step. She was reminded of Confucius' advice to his pupils who intended to travel to foreign lands, to observe and adapt to local customs, but she couldn't figure out how they knew when to plant how many or what distance came when. Each Valoosan seemed to have a different pattern, so she created her own. No one offered advice or corrected her, so she had to assume they were either disinclined to embarrass her--as though the outfit weren't enough--or they were satisfied with her efforts.

It really wasn't that bad, once she got the hang of it, though the cold of the water seeped through her boots and into her bones to make her toes numb and her footing precarious toward the end of it. Fortunately, they'd given her a narrower end of the field, so she was one of the first to finish. When the last of the planters met in the middle, a cheer rose from the onlookers and the planters embraced. Based on the torc he wore, her partner was a widower. With his curly white hair and merry blue eyes, she was reminded of her late Grandma Weir, so giving him a hug was no chore. Considering some of the dull functions she'd had to attend and odious characters she'd had to embrace in her years as a diplomat on Earth, this was a cakewalk.

With Stackhouse's help, she managed to climb from the paddy without falling unceremoniously on her backside. Then he helped her planting partner do the same--another little deed to add to her mental "best sergeant" tally.

After removing their tunics and gloves, the planters gathered to rinse off their boots in a stream that ran between the tapestry field and the woods that bordered it. While the water of the paddy had been cold, that of the stream was warm. When she asked about it, they informed her it was due to there being hot springs upstream. Long ago, they explained, their ancestors had centered their villages around them. Eventually, those who spent the lesser winters away from the hot springs learned how to survive the greater winters away from them, too. It was then they discovered living near hot springs somehow made their people easier targets for the Wraith, so they stopped using them except for health purposes.

Once the rinsing of boots was finished, there was a round of a different hot beverage. This time, everyone had the same drink, one that was sweet with a slightly chewy grain in it that seemed to be halfway between rice and barely. The sweetness tasted a lot like sugar. If they could get a source for sugar, she knew Chef would be thrilled.

As they strolled back to the village for the midday feast, Bess asked if Elizabeth might enjoy a more scenic, less crowded route. It was plain she and the others were hoping for some time alone with their only female Atlantian guest. Discussing it with the others, Corrigan and Lumano went with the main group while Elizabeth accompanied Bess, Tolly and Keffenan through another field of crops. Stackhouse and Yamato shadowed her but kept distant enough to allow for private conversation.

She walked with her entourage for a few minutes, her hostesses taking turns in conversation about various crops, occasionally bending down to absently pull a budding weed or toss a stone from the path into the nearby brook. Then a fourth woman jogged up to meet them, a young, willowy blond. Elizabeth couldn't help but think of Rodney. Although there was hardly an expedition member who hadn't complained about the CoS at some point, he seemed to have a special knack for causing blond females aggravation. The bright-eyed young lady was introduced as Dina, Keff's mistress of records. Without preamble, she said, "Even with trading partners like the Athosians, who have a flexible leadership structure, it's rare that we meet a single ruler who is female. I have many questions, if I may."

"I'd be happy to answer any questions I can."

"How did you come to be the leader of your people?"

_Atlantis is difficult enough. Could I handle being the leader of Earth?_ Elizabeth wondered with a smile. "First, I want to be sure you understand our expedition represents only a fraction of the people of our home."

"Yes. Dr. Corrigan mentioned this. It is difficult to imagine a world so unravaged by strife that the population is great enough to sustain over a hundred countries."

"Our world is hardly free of strife," she corrected, "just free of Wraith. But my point in mentioning this is to help you keep in mind the complexities of our world." Dina nodded her understanding. "In any multinational effort, there will always be challenges in appeasing each nation involved. The Stargate was traditionally controlled by a single country's military, but we needed the cooperation of many countries for our expedition to succeed. As such, having one nation's military in charge was out of the question. A civilian leader was needed. I was the most qualified, so the responsibility fell to me."

"But how is it possible that your world's Stargate is controlled by a single nation? How do the others trade?"

"With each other, mostly. Where we come from, the Stargate is seldom used for trade. It has been exploited by a powerful race set on enslaving every world. Our planet was spared because our Gate was buried for millennia, which is why our cultures have been capable of the advances we've achieved."

"So you, too, have an evil that plagues your galaxy."

"Yes. It's the primary reason we came here, to look for technology we could use to defend our home."

"And yet you have found yourselves stranded with a new evil." Dina's academic interest was tinged with sadness.

"Even without the Wraith, we would need to seek the aid of others to feed ourselves. Our main objectives were scientific. It has never been our intent to colonize, but we still need to eat."

"So this is why the women in your expedition are barren," concluded Keffenan.

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth was too surprised to keep all the incredulity out of her voice.

"What Keffenan means to suggest," soothed Bess with a smile, "is that, because you did not come to colonize, you have no need to bear children."

"As you know," elaborated Dina, "children are very important to us. We have never met a people who choose not to have them. We find it a curiosity."

_As though only they cherish children._ For some reason, it reminded her of the Japanese tendency to talk about having four seasons in a way that intimated the phenomenon was exclusively theirs.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noticed her shadows had grown particularly attentive in response to her stiffened posture, and she raised a hand to reassure them. "Children are important to my people, as well. Our experiences with the Stargate assured us we would encounter unknown dangers. All of us risked our lives and sacrificed a great deal coming here in the hope of protecting our home; we would not have risked the lives of our children by bringing them with us."

Dina added, "As Dr. Corrigan explained, this is why their people are all unmarried, so that if their expedition should meet their fate here, it would be a less tragic loss."

_Not how I would put it, but..._

"So you are not all barren?" asked Keffenan.

"There are numerous expedition members who are parents, though their children are adults. We didn't want to separate parents from children, so none of my people have youngsters they would have had to leave behind." She was pleased to see the expression in Keffenan's eyes change so she no longer needed to wonder if she had sprouted horns or become a talking dog. "Actually, we even have a few grandparents."

"So are _you_ barren?" The mistress of the nursery was proving herself as tenacious as a terrier.

"Keffenan!" admonished Bess. "Your question is obtrusive."

"It's all right, Bess. I am not barren, as far as I know."

"At your age, how can you not know?" insisted the redhead.

Dina came to Elizabeth's defense again. "You are well aware not every world encourages parenthood as early as we do."

"She is easily in the middle of her natural years. How can she not know?"

"With enough people for more than a hundred countries, is it not sensible to wait?"

Elizabeth nodded her thanks to the young woman. "As Dina suggests, our home's population is great enough there is no reason to have children as early as possible. There are so many people, not everyone needs to have children, and there are many complex reasons why a person would choose not to."

"So why have _you_ not had any children?"

"Keffenan, that's enough," chided Bess. "If she was a man, would you press her so?"

"I would. If their world has so many people, how, in all her years, could she not have found a man?" There was a flash of realization in Keffenan's gray eyes. "Is it you're one of those who prefers women?"

Elizabeth nearly tripped in surprise; it had been years since anyone had suggested such a thing to her. "No, I don't prefer women. My reasons for not having had children are personal." She couldn't help but think of Simon and wonder how he'd taken her absence. Had the President given him clearance? Was he waiting for her? How would he react if she returned? What would she do if she couldn't? Her heart lurched a bit at the thought.

There was a collective "Oh," from the women. Not even Dina could hide her puzzlement.

A bit defensively, she added, "If I had had a child, I would not have been given the honor of becoming leader of this expedition, with the hope of discovering technology to protect our homeworld and the opportunity to meet people like you."

"Yet is it not unnatural to live in a world completely without children?" Tolly pushed a lock of hair away from her face so she might watch Elizabeth's reaction more carefully.

"Our situation here is unnatural."

Bess and Dina nodded their understanding, but Tolly's dark eyes remained fixed on hers, unconvinced. "If you are stranded, is it not reasonable for you to consider establishing families, otherwise, in a generation, your people will die out. Then what point would there have been in your having come at all?"

"There are several reasons, aside from the perils, we have not considered settling here. The foremost is that we have faith our homeworld will find a way to reconnect with us, or we will find a way to reconnect with them. When that happens, those who wish to return to have families or merely escape the Wraith may do so. Also, as our negotiations for food should make it plain, our supplies are finite and were chosen with a specific number of people in mind. Allying ourselves with the Athosians has taught us adding to our population throws our resources dangerously out of balance, jeopardizing our objectives. Although we may have the medical needs to aid in child_birth_, since we hadn't planned on settling, we have nothing to aid in child_rearing_. Lastly, every member of the expedition was chosen because he or she has a particular skill that is needed for our success. If the women of the expedition began getting pregnant, and they and their partners had to worry about taking care of children, vital roles would go unfilled."

A black eyebrow arched in response. "Could there not be a designated master and mistress of the nursery, as we have? Perhaps someone among the Athosians could do it."

Dina actually snorted in exasperation. "We have yet to find another world that uses our methods."

"That doesn't mean it has no merits beyond Valoosa," declared Keffenan with pride. "The way we do it is far more efficient."

"You're right," agreed Elizabeth, "There are aspects of our culture that reflect your philosophy, especially schooling, but the obligations of childrearing largely fall on individual families, both by cultural tradition and by choice."

"Yet how is it," wondered Tolly, her mathematician's mind plainly confounded by the facts, "with a city full of only unwed men and women, few of whom are barren or preferring their own sex, not one pregnancy has occurred in the many days since your arrival? Even if there is some rule against it, I don't see how it is possible."

Based on Corrigan's report, Elizabeth wasn't about to discuss contraceptives, let alone abortion.

"The possibility exists that one of our people might become pregnant at some point. While I would support any woman's choice to have a child, it would be highly irresponsible to both the child and the expedition if that were to happen. Through the application of science, we can all but eliminate the chance of unintended pregnancies."

Her hostesses digested that with varying expressions of distaste. Not wanting to keep the focus on herself, Elizabeth turned the topic to her hostesses' jobs and families. That kept the conversation going until they reached the Great Hall.

What surprised Elizabeth the most was that the Great Hall was completely in the open. Every element of Valoosan culture she'd seen so far, from their clothes to the tapestry of their fields to the mixed thatching and siding of their half-submerged houses, everything was designed to blend into its surroundings, especially from anything that might fly overhead. As though sprung fully formed from the earth, the Great Hall was a bold and massive rectangle that made no attempt to hide. Constructed of timber planks with whole trunks at regular intervals for structural support, the entire building gleamed with a remarkably high polish. The roof was steep and made of slate, without so much as a speck of moss to be seen. Roughly half the height of the trees that surrounded its field, it stood at least eighty feet wide and three times that in length, easily the largest wooden structure she'd ever seen--perhaps the largest ever built.

Tents in various hues of green filled the field in scattered clusters, all busy with people cooking, filling the air with woodsmoke and tempting savory scents. There was a constant stream of people coming and going through the Hall, and the immense double doors at each end were thrown wide so the lights and smells and noise had a chance to escape. Sitting on one of the steps leading to the entry was Corrigan, deep in animated conversation with the white-haired gentleman who'd been Elizabeth's planting partner. Both had mugs of steaming beverage and some kind of food on a stick. Standing at-ease nearby, Lumano was looking slightly bored until he noticed their approach. After exchanging nods with Stackhouse, the Corporal gave Corrigan a nudge.

Glancing up at his teammate, the anthropologist seemed unoffended about being interrupted. Two words and a tilt of his head from Lumano caused Corrigan to finally notice her arrival. With a comment to his host, he stood, offering his hand to help the older man to his feet. "Dr. Weir," he smiled with enthusiasm, "did you know Tirin here is the oldest man on Valoosa?"

"No, I didn't." Elizabeth was struck once more by her planting partner's resemblance to her grandmother. "How nice to see you, again."

"The pleasure is mine." Tirin bowed to them, and all the ladies with Elizabeth bowed respectfully in return.

"Grandfather." Tolly moved past the others to embrace him and kiss his cheek. "Let us find Tiv and prepare for the Union."

"I should find Nals," added Keffenan, with a bow. "It was..." she seemed to have to consider her words, "interesting, Dr. Weir. I hope you will one day learn to appreciate the virtues of motherhood."

_What makes you think I don't already?_ Elizabeth thought, undiplomatically. "We came to learn." She managed to say it with sincerity in her voice.

Stackhouse and Lumano exchanged brief, puzzled looks as the redhead sauntered up the steps.

"Please don't mind Keffenan." Bess's tone was mollifying. "Her job is her life more than it is for most."

"It's quite all right," she assured with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But what about you, Dina? Don't you have to join your family? Or are you seated close to Bess and Uvry?" While the beverages had been hearty, the planting, long walk and smells of cooking were making her eager to begin the promised feast.

There was a flash of pain in Dina's eyes before she smiled shyly and ducked her head. "I'm single, so I must join the other single women when the time comes. Until then, I'm free to accompany you, if you don't mind."

To be single at her age meant only one thing on Valoosa--she must have lost her husband. Covering her unexpected blunder, Elizabeth took the young woman's arm the same way Bess had been doing all day. "I wouldn't mind at all. We'd love to hear more about Valoosa, wouldn't we, Dr. Corrigan?"

"Of course." The anthropologist took his cue and walked on the other side of Dina. "I have many questions about the Union festival."

The pretty blond blushed at his words, but before she could say anything, Bess slid between them with a smile. "There will be time enough for that once we've settled ourselves. Come along. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm famished."

This intervention caused Elizabeth to raise an eyebrow at Corrigan, but he just shrugged as they made their way up the steps to enter the Great Hall.

Inside, there was a veritable throng. Although Elizabeth had read reported estimates of the, once sizable, Hoffan population, most of the planets they'd visited had consisted of modest collections of small villages, nothing on this scale. Several thousand people were either sitting at or milling around hundreds of rectangular tables. The place seemed to be arranged with families at either end and the middle divided into men's and women's sides, with an open area in-between. From the roofbeams hung vast brass lanterns with countless branches, giving the place a merry glow. They were greeted at the door by giggling preteen girls who placed green and tan circlets made of tightly twisted paper on the Atlantians, though Bess wore only tan and Dina green. After making quite a fuss garlanding Stackhouse and his team, they gave Dina and Elizabeth small suede bags that were died green and tied with red cords. The bright color surprised Elizabeth and made her think of Christmas, which made her think of Simon.

Christmas had been the last holiday they'd spent together. She'd been too busy with the SGC and Antarctica to visit for Valentine's or his birthday. They'd had long talks and exchanged gifts--and she'd spent a weekend with him in the months before leaving for Atlantis--but Christmas had been the last quality time they'd had together. They'd bought a real tree; she'd roasted duck; he'd made that plum pudding she hated; Sedge had gotten into a box of chocolates under the tree. It had been just the two of them, and together, they'd watched the snow fall in silent candlelight.

"Dr. Weir?" Dina's quiet query drew her out of her reverie. "Are you all right?"

"Just...thinking about home," she confessed with a smile.

"You've lost someone, too." It wasn't a question; it was a statement, one that sent a chill of doubt through her.

"I don't think I have." She reached for the familiar weight of the pendant he'd given her. "It's complicated."

Dina's searching blue eyes drew their own conclusions. "If all of your expedition are unattached, then you must have had to leave him behind. It's a difficult choice, to leave those you love for the sake of duty." She fished out an ivory pendant from beneath her collar. It had an elaborate design burned into it. "My Ballinik was a sailor. Fish and oil are vital to our survival through the greater winters." It came out as more of a mantra, a means of reassuring herself, rather than an explanation to her guest. "It was always difficult watching him go, but it's worse not knowing what became of him. I like to think he's found himself a pretty fishmaiden someplace warm." Tucking the necklace away, her tone changed from wistful to hopeful. "Perhaps this is the year I'll find love, again, myself."

Dodging a white-garlanded server carrying a basket full of bread, Elizabeth considered changing the subject but found herself drawn in, unable to deny the parallel to her own situation. "But if you still love Ballinik, how can you...?"

"I can't change what has happened. Whether alive or dead, he's gone from me. It has been more than one passing of winters; it's my obligation to Keff to search for another." Dina's small smile grew wider. "Besides, he wouldn't want me to mourn him forever; he'd want me to be loved."

More than once, Elizabeth had come close to death on Atlantis, but whether or not Simon should find someone if she died had never entered into her mind. If they were stranded in Pegasus forever, would she be able to bring herself to let him go? She hadn't had the heart or time to say goodbye to him in person. If the President didn't give him permission to view her farewell message, would he wonder where she'd gone? Would he search for her? Or would he move on with his life, as Dina was trying to? Regardless, she couldn't give up hope, not yet, not so soon. She had to believe they would see each other again.

Clenching the bag in her resolve, she realized there was something small and hard inside--several somethings, actually. "So what's in the bag?" she asked as they arrived at their table.

"Beans," said Dr. Corrigan, who'd joined her on her left. "The number is supposed to represent how many children you'll have."

"As Dr. Corrigan says," agreed Dina with a smile. "It's a tradition that still amuses most newlyweds."

The conversation was interrupted by the necessary greetings and niceties as Uvry and Bess settled their guests and family. Situated along one edge, close to the middle, Stackhouse seemed satisfied that the Atlantians were given the side of the table that put their backs to the wall. Yamato stood at-ease behind them, and Elizabeth assured their hosts that the men would take turns standing guard so everyone would have a chance to enjoy the food.

Their table was rather male-heavy, with Elizabeth, Bess and Dina the only women. This made it popular with the female servers. Yamato remained remarkably impassive, but Stackhouse used his gift of gab to entertain himself and tease Jess, the eldest of their hosts' children at the table and the only one to have a green garland. They learned what each of the foods represented--they all had meanings--and that white circlets were for widows and widowers. The colors helped the servers know what to give which people. Since the Atlantians qualified as both single and unavailable, that meant half again as many dishes for them to sample. There were so many, it was too much for one person to keep track of, so to give Dr. Corrigan a break, Elizabeth persuaded his teammates to be responsible for cataloging the information for certain types of food. She choose fruits and vegetables for herself, happily imagining all the dishes Dr. Tamura and Chef might make from them. Meat, fish, dairy in countless variety, spring crops, pickles and preserves galore, the feast was long, with a seemingly endless selection. Thank goodness she'd worn her slacks with the elastic waist!

As the dishes were being cleared away, music began to play. Jess and Dina excused themselves to make their way to the center of the Hall. Around them, a similar pilgrimage was happening, as eligible people gravitated toward the center of the room. Baskets of sweet bread with a sticky coating were handed out, though the children were given a different kind of treat. Mugs of ale accompanied the bread. That Stackhouse, Lumano and Yamato passed on the tempting beverage drew their hosts' attentions.

"Surely, Dr. Weir..." began Bess.

"Everyone's entitled to enjoy the festivities," concluded Uvry.

Bess nodded her agreement. "You said none in your expedition were placed in a class separate from the others."

"That's true," assured Elizabeth, wondering why they'd thought the restraint of Dr. Corrigan's teammates might somehow be class-oriented. "But our customs generally prohibit those responsible for public safety from consuming alcohol while performing their duty."

"Even during a time of celebration?" they chorused in surprise.

"Even during a time of celebration." Elizabeth nodded with an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with myself and Dr. Corrigan."

Bess sighed. "Well, I suppose that will do."

"So long as their are two of you," added Uvry.

"We've been having a fine time without, haven't we?" said Stackhouse, who was taking his turn as guard.

"You throw a great party," agreed Lumano around a mouthful of bread.

"Your hospitality has been the finest we've experienced since our arrival in Atlantis."

This comment from Yamato drew surprised glances from his teammates. It was the longest sentence Elizabeth had ever heard from the man, so she suspected that had something to do with it.

Dr. Corrigan laughed. "It's a shame, though, guys; this is pretty good stuff." Without pity, he drained his mug and reached for Lumano's.

Leaning closer, Elizabeth murmured, "You planning on making up for them not being able to have any?"

He blinked at her innocently. "Shouldn't I?"

Were he one of any number of other brown-eyed men from Atlantis, she might have doubted his sincerity. "It depends. Will one or more of your team have to carry you back?"

"Oh, that was just that first mission," he blushingly insisted. "It won't happen again."

"Be sure it doesn't." She threw a bit of steel into her voice, just to be sure he knew she meant it.

"Yes, ma'am."

Setting down Lumano's mug, Dr. Corrigan turned to his hosts and proceeded to pull from them every detail of the ceremony that was taking place. The single men and women swirled their way through as many dances as their feet could handle, switching partners as they progressed their way along the sets. In this way, they could express their interest, or lack thereof, in their various partners. Naturally, like the food, each dance had a story behind it. In theory, the dancing would lead to romance and a group wedding by the end of the festival, several days hence. Here and there, married couples also danced, though their variations usually kept them with the same partner.

Dr. Corrigan was right, though; it was difficult to keep away from the ale. By the time it was polite to take their leave, the sky was just beginning to darken with the waning of the sun. The clouds she'd seen in the morning had apparently blown through, leaving the land glittering like magic in the fresh spring rain. Everything was wonderful in that way life was when you were in good company and had a slight buzz.

As they made their way back to the Stargate, the archeologist and their host walked arm in arm, singing various ballads they'd heard during the dancing. Dr. Corrigan's shockingly clear soprano blended perfectly with Uvry's rough bass while Stackhouse attempted to sing the female parts in an amusingly cracked tenor. Despite being burdened with the heaviest of the samples--nearly everything that came in jars--Lumano had plenty of energy to jeer heartily at his CO's performance. Even Yamato laughed.

At last, they arrived, the hill seeming steeper while going up with baskets of produce than it was coming down. They bid their hosts warm farewells, with Bess promising to tell her how Dina fared when next they spoke. Then it was time to go. When the vibrant glow of the event horizon burst into existence, she felt no anxiety. Beyond it were her people, and finally, she felt she had contributed directly to their well being.


	3. Percolation

NOTES: At last, the real fun begins. Thank you for the reviews. Sorry for the delay; I had a friend passing through town. Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T

* * *

UNION 

PART 3

PERCOLATION

Upon their return from Valoosa, Elizabeth, Sergeant Stackhouse and his team were greeted by the ever-vigilant Sergeant Bates.

"How'd it go?"

Bates directed his comment to Stackhouse, but the team leader said nothing. Instead, he diplomatically turned to Elizabeth so she might answer. This endeared the younger Sergeant to her even more.

"Everything went according to plan," Elizabeth replied. "We couldn't have asked for a better away mission. As soon as we run this produce past quarantine and Dr. Tamura, we'll be going back for more." Some objective part of her was aware she was nearly gushing and disapproved of it, though she wasn't quite sure why. "Anything happen while I was gone that I should know about?"

"No, ma'am."

"What a spread," murmured Dr. Corrigan appreciatively. "It's a shame we were the only ones who got to go."

"Isn't it?" Elizabeth couldn't repress a sigh. Then she continued brightly, "Still, it's nice that someone was able to enjoy it all, and we'll finally have access to a good supply of fresh fruits and vegetables. That should help moral, don't you think?"

"Of course it will!" Corrigan grinned broadly in agreement.

This gained a raised eyebrow from Sergeant Bates.

_Does he ever smile a real smile?_ she wondered.

"We need to report to Dr. Beckett, ma'am," suggested Stackhouse.

"Yes, yes," she nodded. "Mustn't keep the doctor waiting."

She led the way down the short flight of stairs to the infirmary then stopped and turned. "Oh, Sergeant Bates," she called back, "Please contact Dr. Tamura in the botany lab and fill her in. Let her know she should be getting potential food crops to study and that she has the authority to borrow whomever she needs from the chemistry and medical departments to complete her research as soon as possible. This has top priority."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sure, she could contact Dr. Tamura as easily as Bates would, but she had to do what she could to get the military and academic members to interact. Smiling to herself, she turned back toward the infirmary with Stackhouse's team in tow.

Dr. Carson Beckett and Nurse Anderson were waiting for them in the examination area when they arrived, though the Chief of Medicine's shift had ended hours ago.

"Mission went well?" asked Carson, as Elizabeth and the others deposited their baskets and backpacks in the decontamination room at one end of the room.

"It was great, Carson!" Taking off her jacket, she hopped onto a bed and rolled up a sleeve so Anderson could take her blood pressure. "I really think we've done it this time."

She became oddly over-aware of the nurse's hands as he handled the cuff on her arm and listened to her breathing. As he smiled down at her, she couldn't help but notice that he was so very tall, blond and handsome. A cousin and a college roommate had each married men just like him; both were very happy women.

_What is it about Scandinavian men?_

She was so preoccupied with wondering which of her friends' husbands the nurse most resembled, she barely noticed when he drew her blood for testing. Once he was done, Anderson moved on to Yamato.

"Your turn to change, Dr. Weir."

"Hmm?" She turned to find Stackhouse holding open the door to the examination area's bathroom. His hair was damp yet still upright. "Oh, yes. Of course."

Slipping off the bed, she smiled her thanks to Stackhouse as she entered the little room, closing the door behind her. Despite the air system's best efforts, the humidity was high from the shower having been used, yet the mirror, like those in every bathroom in Atlantis, showed no condensation. Along with the moisture, there was a definite masculine scent. Male offworld team members outnumbered female five to one, so it was to be expected. But it wasn't an aspect of mission routines she'd consciously considered.

_What is it like for Teyla to always be surrounded by men and their things like this?_

On shelves along one wall, each team member had a pair of empty medical supply containers, labeled with their names on strips of gauze adhesive tape. One set was for the clothes they'd put aside for their return; the other was for what they wore on the mission. Based on which were empty, Stackhouse and Lumano had already changed into their offduty gear, not that there was much difference for most of the Marines.

As she undressed, she couldn't help but examine what Corrigan and Yamato had waiting in their offduty bins, tilting this way and that to try to get a better look through the clear plastic sides. There was something vaguely voyeuristic about it, this glimpse into their personal effects, but even as she admonished herself for her nosiness, she took note of Corrigan's hand-knitted socks and Yamato's silk undershirt with interest.

Her mental clock reminded her others were waiting, so she took a quick shower and got into her clean clothes, grateful for her one pair of flats. She'd tend to Dr. Tamura's boots tomorrow, after everything had been through decontamination.

Upon exiting the bathroom, she found herself in the midst of a lively conversation.

"If only you could have tasted the ale!" lamented Corrigan as Anderson finished drawing his blood.

"And so many lovely single ladies!" added Corporal Lumano.

About to take his turn in the bathroom, Yamato cleared his throat loudly, which apparently caused his teammates to remember they had a lady in their midst.

Blushing, Lumano sputtered, "Sorry, ma'am."

Elizabeth waved it away. "It's true. No need to be sorry about it. Of course, every last one of them was looking for a husband, so it's not as though you could have taken advantage of it."

This brought a laugh out of Stackhouse, who was on the Ancient diagnostic bed.

"Did you see how Bess moved in when I tried to talk with Dina?" agreed Corrigan. "Only serious offers allowed, it would seem."

"I'll be taking these to Dr. Biro's lab, then?" Anderson had a rack of five blood samples in his hand.

"Aye, lad." Carson nodded to his nurse without looking up from his monitor. "After the extra hours she an' her team pulled yesterday clearing this lot ta go back, I think it can wait until tomorrow."

Moving close so she could peek at the monitor over Carson's shoulder, Elizabeth asked, "You work overtime both days but Dr. Biro doesn't have to?"

"Just one of the perks of being Chief of the medical staff. " Carson offered her a wry grin before turning to his patient. "You're as healthy as when you left, Sergeant. Your turn, Corporal."

As Stackhouse got up, he grabbed a half-full bottle of water then joined them in the monitor bay. Seeing it made Elizabeth realize how thirsty she'd become.

"I don't suppose I could get one of those."

"Ma'am?"

"Recall Dr. Weir may not be as familiar with the examination area as yourself, Sergeant." Carson chided with a lift of his chin toward a cabinet near the bathroom.

Looking over his shoulder, Stackhouse muttered, "Oh," then turned back. "Sorry, ma'am." He promptly turned to fetch her some water.

"I know how you feel about the military, Carson, but really..." she murmured. Then Stackhouse was back with a bottle in his hand. "Thank you, Sergeant. I'll have to remember that for next time."

"All done, Corporal," announced Carson. "Your turn, Dr. Weir, unless you'd prefer the Lieutenant to go first."

She hadn't noticed Yamato had come out of the bathroom.

"I think I'll wait for my turn, if that's all right with you Lieutenant."

Bowing his acknowledgment, Yamato moved to lay down on the diagnostic bed.

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth caught Lumano yawning. "Tired, Corporal?"

The young man grinned sheepishly. "A meal like that and a hot shower can really take it out of me, ma'am."

"You're finished here. Why don't you go, then?" she suggested. Lumano gave Stackhouse a look, as though seeking some guidance. "Or do you usually leave together?" For some reason it bothered her not knowing this detail. Being aware of such things would give her that much more insight into what it was like for the offworld teams.

After a moment's consideration Lumano replied, "I guess it depends on the mission, how late it is, that sort of thing."

"Well, I'd say it's late enough." She turned a questioning look on his teammate. "Sergeant?"

Stackhouse shrugged, "If it's all right with you, ma'am."

"You all did a fine job, today. No need to babysit your boss longer than you have to."

"You might as well make it three of you," said Carson. "Lieutenant, you're cleared to leave."

"Good evening, gentlemen." Elizabeth smiled as they left.

"Ma'am," chorused Stackhouse and Lumano.

"Good evening, Dr. Weir, Dr. Beckett," added Yamato as he left the examination area.

"Gokuro-san," Elizabeth called after them.

Yamato turned with a smile and a bow. "Otsukare-san."

At that moment, Corrigan exited the bathroom and looked around in confusion. "Where'd everyone go?"

"Maybe to make up for your getting to drink on the job." With a smile, Elizabeth gestured to the diagnostic bed. "Your turn, doctor."

It wasn't long before Corrigan was also cleared to leave. Settling herself on the Ancient device, Elizabeth felt the need to mention, "You know, Carson, you could have let the second shift doctor do this."

"Just between you an' me, Rodney wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I didn't see to you personally."

"Really?"

"Aye. He has some peculiar notions, that one." Carson let out an amused huff. "Calls medicine voodoo, yet he has a preferred shaman."

"So he bullied you into this?"

"I was plannin' on doin' it anyway," he admitted. "I knew I'd feel better if I was the one ta see you after your first away mission, and it's not as though I have somethin' better ta do."

"Oh, don't say that."

"It's not but true. Atlantis is a fascinating place, but you have ta admit it's entertainment options are a mite bit lacking." This was followed by a, "Hmm."

"What is it?"

"Your frontal lobe seems ta be a bit overactive. Dr. Corrigan's was, too."

"So is it something I need to worry about?"

"I'm not so sure. Would you say you had a bit more of the ale than Dr. Corrigan?"

"Would that account for it?"

"More than likely. That and your difference in weight." He got up from his seat behind the monitor. "If you feel unwell in any way, be sure ta come back an' let us know."

_Beautiful blue eyes, darling dimples, sweet disposition, adorable accent and a medical doctor. Why on Earth is this man single?_

"Dr. Weir?"

"Yes, Carson?"

"You may go, now."

"Of course." Pulling her gaze away, she stood and slipped on her flats, wobbling briefly as she straightened the folded over heel of one shoe.

Carson reached out to steady her. "You sure you're feelin' all right?"

"Just a little tired." She smiled sheepishly and patted her stomach. "No doubt due to enjoying myself too much. That and stepping from afternoon into dusk has got my internal clock a bit off, I think."

"Aye, twas the same way for me an' Hoff." Although he smiled, sorrow haunted his eyes.

Elizabeth reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. Some part of her couldn't help but notice how well-formed that arm was, and the surprise caused her to let go sooner than she'd intended. "You did what you thought was right. There was no way you could have known what would happen."

It was Carson's turn to look away. "If you say so."

"They would have eventually reached that stage, with or without our help." It was the logic she used to assuage her own guilt on the matter. If only she hadn't given permission to use their Wraith prisoner for the Hoffan's experiment...

"It's all right. There's nothin' that can be done about it now."

Although none of the reports had mentioned anything explicitly, Elizabeth knew Carson had grown close to the head of the Hoffan research department. At the time, she had felt sorry for his loss and for her authority being partially responsible. Now, she felt an overwhelming wrongness about it. He had found a woman to love, and fate had taken her away. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural.

_It wasn't natural?_

"Carson..."

"You've had a long day," insisted the Scotsman. "Consider gettin' some rest. Now off with you."

Her desire to console the physician warred with her need to detach herself from her errant thoughts and the people who seemed to be inspiring them.

Nodding, she responded, "Good night, Carson."

"G'night, lass."

Regardless of having used the excuse of being tired to cover her peculiar musings, Elizabeth didn't feel the least bit sleepy. She hoped typing up her report would be just the thing to occupy her wandering mind and help her wind down. Exiting the infirmary for the Gateroom, Elizabeth climbed the stairs to Control to find Peter at the communications console. It was approaching the third shift of the day, and she hadn't been informed of any problems with the comm.

_What's he doing here at this time of night?_

Peter greeted her with a tight-lipped grin. "I hear we should be expecting fresh produce soon, thanks to you."

"The real thanks should go to Halling and Sergeant Stackhouse's team, but yes, things went well."

"Any chance we'll be getting something similar to cauliflower?" He leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "I snuck along some spices to make alu gobi."

"Sorry, but we'll only have access to spring vegetables for now, and they still have to pass muster."

"I, well." He stretched back in his chair with a sigh. "I can keep hoping."

She found herself distracted by the contours of his upper arm hidden within the unflattering sleeve of his shirt. Why had she never noticed how fit Peter was? It took effort to resist the urge to reach out and touch him to see if his biceps were really as firm as the fabric hinted.

Peter lifted his arm to look. "Is there something there?"

"No," blinked Elizabeth. "I was just thinking."

He raised an eyebrow and flashed a rare, toothy smile. "I promise, if I ever get the chance to make some, I'll make enough to share."

"I'll hold you to it," she laughed, "but for now, I'd better type up this report while I still remember everything."

She retreated to her office before her attention could be diverted by any more intimate details of the many men she worked with. On her desk, she noticed a small, folded piece of paper weighed down by a precious bar of chocolate. Still too full from the feast to think about food, she stashed the chocolate in a box behind her desk and opened the note. Inside, Lieutenant Ford's tidy print read, "Congratulations on your first away mission!" It was signed by the Lieutenant, the Major and the Athosian symbols she knew to be Teyla's initials. Elizabeth smiled, feeling cheered by her success, her malaise from the infirmary fading away. She found herself looking forward to telling them about it all at their morning meeting. As delightful as Stackhouse's team had been, she'd missed the Lieutenant's cheeky grin and Major Sheppard's dodgy sense of humor.

As she snapped open her laptop, a tangential thought crossed her mind.

_Why didn't Rodney sign it?_ she wondered.

Picking up the note, she looked at it again to be sure. Then she recalled how agitated he'd been about her leaving. She couldn't blame his teammates for avoiding him today. For some reason, remembering the intensity with which Rodney had argued for her to carry a gun stirred something deep within her and caused her palms to sweat. She felt disappointed that her CoS couldn't bring himself to offer even the smallest commendation on her achievement. If he was so concerned for her well-being, why hadn't he checked in on her? Unlike the others, Rodney was usually still awake and working at this hour, yet he hadn't even tried to contact her over the comm.

As if summoned by her thoughts, she spotted Rodney entering Control. He had removed his jacket from earlier in the day and was wearing that tight-fitting zip-up shirt he'd been favoring since the weather had gotten warmer. Even from a distance, she couldn't help but notice the definition of his broad, flat pecs. An insuppressible grin spread across her face.

_Perhaps he's coming to congratulate me personally?_

The thought nearly caused her to laugh. For him to do so would be like admitting he was wrong, and she couldn't imagine such a confession, no matter how indirect.

The astrophysicist stopped by the console Peter was manning.

_That might explain the timely arrival._

Elizabeth watched them talking, Rodney's hands nearly as animated as his face. Some subconscious facet of her brain chose that moment to surface; she idly contemplated what it would feel like to be touched by those capable hands.

_What the hell was in that drink!_

Peter ended a sentence by tilting his head in her direction, and Rodney turned to look. Instinctively, she dipped her chin so they couldn't tell she was watching them. A blush burned her cheeks. When Peter finished, Rodney nodded then strode purposefully to her office. She looked up as he entered.

"How'd it go?" he asked without preamble, leaning against the frame of her office door. Despite the casual pose, his arms were crossed, a classic defensive position. That he hadn't fully entered suggested reservation and hesitation.

Not wanting him to be defensive, reserved or hesitant, Elizabeth gave him a crooked grin and an amused tone. "The usual. Nod and smile, eat and drink, plant the last field."

With a laugh, Rodney lowered his arms and stepped into her office. "They really had you help with their farming?"

"I'm not looking forward to cleaning Dr. Tamura's boots."

"Sounds like you had a long day." His brow furrowed briefly as he stepped closer to lean on her desk and peer carefully at her face. "You look tired and a bit flushed. Maybe you should call it a day. Is there really anything that can't wait until morning?"

She found she couldn't stop staring.

_His eyes are such a magnificent shade of blue!_

He returned her unblinking gaze for a moment. Then he glanced over his shoulder and looked back, clearly confused.

"Elizabeth, are you all right?"

"Just tired."

He nodded in acceptance, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a sympathetic smile.

_His lower lip...it's so full..._

"Would you like me to walk you back to your room?"

_YES!_

"Thank you for offering," she smiled, "but I still have a few items to attend to."

Uncertainty flitted across his face, but he just said, "Well, good night, then."

"Good night, Rodney."

Elizabeth watched him return to the control room and found herself disgruntled by the mediocre fit of his slacks.

Rodney stopped to talk to Peter, again. Whatever he said to the Brit, he did it with a shake of his head and a shrug of his broad shoulders.

_How could Colonel Carter have ever described him as scrawny?_

Soon, he left down the hall that lead to the transporter, though whether headed for his lab or his quarters, she couldn't be sure. As soon as her CoS disappeared around the far corner, she lost all interest in her report. Worse, she had to restrain herself from following after him like a toy on a string.

_This is ridiculous. I should just go sleep it off._

Shutting down her computer, Elizabeth decided she didn't really want to see anyone else, so she snuck out of her office's other door, working her way to her quarters via the Jumper bay. Even with the surreptitious route, she ran into a number of people preparing for the night shift. Many offered congratulations on the success of her mission, but with the liberal use of yawns, she managed to avoid any conversations. She was swept with a strangely powerful wave of relief and anticipation when she reached her room. Yet as she prepared for bed, she felt a slight chill; the relief was replaced by a sense of longing, as though something vital were missing. Once inside her quiet, empty bedroom, the feeling evolved into an inexplicable apprehension, causing her to toss and turn restlessly in her bed.

When she finally managed to fall asleep, her dreams were unusually sensuous and filled with the theme of searching. She'd had a handful of similar dreams since arriving in Pegasus, ones in which she looked for Simon, but these were different. Instead of alien landscapes, she wandered the familiar halls of Atlantis. Instead of ending up in the embrace of her distant lover, her quests found their conclusions in the arms of her Chief of Science. Most shocking of all was how glad and right and satisfying it seemed.

She found herself awake before the sun. Her sheets were a tangled, sweat-soaked mess, and her muscles ached dully. Although she didn't have a headache, her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, her thoughts lost in a nebulous haze. The arousing echoes of her dreams dominated her mind, making it difficult to get through even the most basic aspects of her morning routine without meandering into a fantasy. By the time she was showered and dressed, there was only one clear thought in her mind--she had to get to Rodney. He'd know what was wrong; he'd help her. If only she could get to Rodney, everything would be all right.


	4. Hot Coffee

NOTES: Thank you for the reviews! Although posting this now will no doubt result in a longer wait between later chapters, I didn't want to keep you all waiting too long. Besides, out of necessity, it's a short chapter. Since Elizabeth's too out of it to be very helpful in telling the story, it's Rodney's turn. We've finally seen Rodney's room in season two's Duet, but since pretty much every set has changed between seasons one and two--and we never saw his quarters in season one--I'm sticking with this description, which I wrote prior to Duet. Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T (Don't let the ending fool you!)

* * *

UNION

PART 4

HOT COFFEE

The morning was still young. Dr. Rodney McKay had already showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, dressed, begun making coffee and read through four reports. The sooner he finished reviewing reports, the more time he had to experiment with Ancient technology, so he was usually diligent about keeping up with the projects of the dozens of scientists working in Atlantis. Besides, it gave him something light to occupy his mind while his coffee brewed.

Having his own private percolator was quite the trading triumph. He'd been able to instruct the Athosian glassblower on the design. In exchange for powdered chromium and copper, courtesy of the rock crusher in the geology lab, Rodney had become the first and only Earthling in Atlantis to possess a vacuum coffee pot. Being the Chief of Science, arranging for a frame to hold it and a gas stove to heat it was hardly a challenge. Chef was more than happy to provide Rodney with his own weekly stash of grounds; it gave the man as much as an hour of extra sleep each morning by not having to match schedules with the CoS.

The doorbell chimed, and Rodney opened it with a thought. Manipulating Ancient technology with his mind was one of the advantages of having the ATA gene. Sure, it could impress and even startle some staffers, but that was no reason not to use it.

Glancing up from a report, he was surprised to find Elizabeth standing in his doorway. It was still hours until their first meeting, and she never came to his quarters. Of course, Elizabeth being Elizabeth, it didn't surprise him that she knew where his quarters were. Still...

"Come in, Elizabeth. Have a seat." He hastily moved a stack of files from one of his kitchenette chairs to his desk, hesitating a moment to make sure the papers wouldn't topple onto the floor. Even with more than half of the various project materials submitted digitally, there was still plenty of paperwork. "I've just made coffee," he added, moving to switch off the stove. "Would you like some?"

When she didn't answer, he turned to find her right next to him, leaning close. It was almost as though she were sniffing him.

"What? I just showered!" he said indignantly.

She looked him in the eye, and he could tell something was wrong. There was no bright humor in her gaze, only a predatory gleam. He took a step back, and she followed him.

"Elizabeth, are you all right?" Rodney took another step and found himself trapped against his pantry.

Her only response was to reach up and touch his face.

He'd never known Elizabeth to be a particularly touchy person, offering only the occasional pat on the back or arm; anything more might be inappropriate. In all the months he'd been working with her, she'd touched him eight times, including shaking hands upon his arrival in Antarctica. Only once had she touched his face. For that occasion, he'd been nearly unconscious, but he was fully awake now.

Her cool fingertips skimmed his skin, tracing his lips, teasing the mole on his left jaw. It was the most sensual sensation he'd consciously experienced since...he wasn't sure when, and it spawned an internal mutiny.

_Becoming aroused by your boss in front of her is very, very bad!_ screamed his intellect.

_What's going on? What does this mean?_ wondered his confused psyche.

_MORE!_ insisted his id.

But all he could manage to say was a breathless, "Oh," that was half shock, half desire.

His internal turmoil was brushed aside by her lips meeting his. It was no shy, curious peck. It was pure passion and ignited suppressed desires with astounding alacrity, overwhelming his uncaffeinated brain. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. She didn't object, and the feel of her against him added fuel to the fire. Twining her fingers behind his neck, she deepened the kiss, and for a time, he was helpless to do anything but respond in kind.

Kissing Elizabeth was even better than he'd imagined. Her lips were soft and supple, capable of all the deft variety her expressive features had always suggested. Rodney was grateful he hadn't had any coffee yet, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to fully enjoy the subtly sweet taste of her mouth. There was something truly exquisite about the feel of her skull beneath his fingers, the enticing tickle of her curls against his palm. His senses were so consumed with absorbing every nuance of the divine creature in his arms that the whole of his world contracted until it was just the two of them. If he had been struck down just then, he would have died a happy man.

It was the feeling of her fingers sliding under his shirt that finally liberated Rodney's intellect from his id's euphoric dominion.

_That is just not right._

Her other hand joined the first, lazily plotting a course along his vertebra and drawing a moan of pleasure from him that she enthusiastically echoed.

_Elizabeth would never be so casual about something like this._

With an effort, he pulled himself away from her lips, took a deep breath and tried to speak in a calm voice. "Elizabeth..." he began but was immediately silenced by a kiss.

_She hasn't even said a word... Why is there something familiar about this?_

Putting his hands on either side of her head, he held her still and pulled away so he might escape the sensuous onslaught.

"Elizabeth, say something," he pleaded. "Say _anything_."

Her expression wavered between vexation and disappointment. Then she reached up and pulled his face back to hers.

_Well, at least that got her hands out from under my shirt, but talking obviously isn't going to fix this. Now what? I need help..._

Rodney spotted his earpiece on the empty shipping container he used as an end table. Trying to move with her clinging to him proved ungainly, nearly causing him to fall. Realizing she probably wouldn't object, he wrapped his arms around her waist to pick her up and waddled over to the sofa, bumping his desk and sending the pile of reports cascading to the floor in the process. Once they'd arrived, it was a bit tricky trying to get at the tiny radio. He had to shove the crate aside with his foot and sit on the arm of the sofa so he was low enough to reach for it. Elizabeth straddled him without hesitation to accommodate the change. Then he had to struggle free of her kisses and peel her hand away from his left ear.

Finally, he managed to put on his earpiece and activate it. "Control, patch me through to Dr. Beckett's room and make the channel secure."

"Dr. McKay?" The reply was drowsy and accented with German. "But it's-"

"I don't care what time it is!" he barked, "Just do it!"

There was a brief patch of static followed by dead air.

Elizabeth persistently fussed with the transmitter. He had to keep a firm hand on her head and his chin awkwardly above it to continue talking.

"Have you patched me through?"

"He's not responding..."

Before Rodney could snarl at the man in Control, a groggy Scottish voice drawled in his earpiece. "Wha' izzit?"

Rodney waited for the faint click that indicated their connection was secure. "Carson, I need you to get a fast-acting, injectable sedative carried in a general medical bag and come to my quarters immediately."

Apparently giving up on trying to stop Rodney from talking, Elizabeth started kissing his neck.

"Wha'?" There was a distant fumbling sound, "Rodney, d'ya know-"

"I'm aware of the time," growled Rodney.

"Wha' on Earth d'ya need-"

"I'll explain when you get here." He paused a moment, repressing a gasp when Elizabeth's exploration of his collarbone suddenly included tongue. "I don't hear you walking, Carson."

"Give a man enough time ta make himself decent, why don'cha." The physician's voice seethed with indignation. "I'm no' about ta go traipsin' 'round the city half dressed!"

"Don't you have something with you so you don't have to go to the infirmary?"

"No, I don'."

"Fine. Just hurry."

Rodney lowered his chin and allowed Elizabeth to pull the radio from his ear. Holding her head in his hands, he gazed for a moment into her smoldering eyes.

_What will happen if she remembers all this and doesn't forgive me?_

Something inside him chose that moment to hurt. It was acutely painful, like some hollow space in his heart had been crushed and feeling rushed in to fill it, feelings that had nothing to do with physical desire.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered.

Elizabeth just smiled and slipped out of her jacket, revealing the modest, yet alluring, sleeveless blouse beneath. Then she pushed him onto the sofa.

All this before his first cup of joe.


	5. Sugar and Cream

NOTES: I'm so glad you all enjoyed the last chapter so much! Some of you may wonder why Carson doesn't speak with an accent in this part when he did in earlier parts. That's because the earlier parts were from the perspectives of Elizabeth and Rodney; this one is from Carson's. From Carson's perspective, he has no accent. Thank you, fififolle, for checking my Scottishisms, and PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T

* * *

UNION 

PART 5

SUGAR AND CREAM

_Crazy hypochondriacal Canadian! Who on Earth needs sedatives at six in the bloody morning?_

Dr. Carson Beckett stormed into his infirmary with all the brooding tension of a thunderhead. The night nurse offered him a cautious, "Good morning."

Drawing a deep breath, the physician managed a gruff smile. "Don't mind me, Komal. I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

During his stroll to the infirmary, Carson had figured out Rodney's curious request and secure comm line must mean something was up that should be kept private. So he didn't explain anything to his nurse as he hastily stuffed a variety items into a medical bag and left.

Located close to the generator that powered the main tower, Rodney's room was fairly isolated from the rest of the crew quarters, though it was easy enough to get to with the transporter. After a short walk through deserted halls, Carson found himself in front of the astrophysicist's door. Ever uncomfortable with using his ATA gene, he pressed the door chime and called out, "Rodney, I'm here!"

The doors opened with a quiet whoosh, and Carson stepped inside.

_Is that coffee?_

"Rodney?" The doors slid shut behind him.

"Over here!" A hand popped up from the far side of the couch. Carson could just see Rodney's legs hanging over one of the arms.

"What's going on?" The place was a mess. There were papers scattered everywhere and furniture out of place. Was that a gray and red jacket on the floor? One with gathers at the waist, no less. There was only one person on Atlantis who had a jacket like that...

"Elizabeth, stop that." Rodney's voice was tinged with impatience.

Carson hastened around the sofa to discover a scene that caused him to gape in surprise. Rodney was sprawled on his back with his shirt unbuttoned. A slender brunette straddled the Canadian, intent on removing his belt. "Dr. Weir!" he finally managed to sputter.

"How very astute of you." Once Rodney had successfully pulled Dr. Weir's hand away from his belt, he favored Carson with an exasperated look. "Would you get your jaw off the floor and give her the sedative already?"

"But, I..."

"But you _what_?" snapped the scientist as he pulled Dr. Weir's other hand away from his belt and deposited it on his shoulder. With a disgruntled noise, she bent down and began exploring Rodney's chest with kisses.

"Give me a moment to get my bearings." Carson tried not to stare.

"Bearings? What...? What bearings do you need to get?"

_How can he even pay attention to me while she..._

"Well, I can't go around giving people sedatives on your order."

"What do you need my order for?" Rodney waved his hands in long, quick, sweeping motions to emphasize his awkward position. "You think I'd be like this if she'd go to the infirmary willingly?"

"I should be certain of a person's condition before administering drugs."

"You need certainty? Fine." Pointing, Rodney blathered with mock enthusiasm, "Look, Elizabeth! Carson's here! Now we can have a ménage à trois like you've always wanted. If you think it's a good idea, just keep at it. If not, slap me, call me a pig and storm out." He paused for a moment to demonstrate Dr. Weir was clearly not listening before turning back with a frustrated grimace. "Now will you _please_ give her a sedative so we can take her to the infirmary and figure out what's wrong with her before whatever it is she has spreads throughout the city?"

Setting his bag on the floor, Carson nodded, slipped on a pair of latex gloves and started preparing a dose. "You think she's been infected with something?"

"Her symptoms are similar to one of the SGC's earliest medical crises, when they first visited P3X-797."

"The Land of Light. Yes, I remember reading the file, though she doesn't seem to be showing the aggression or physical changes."

"Does it matter? We're in another galaxy. What are the chances this'd be the same disease?"

"Quite slim, naturally." Carson pulled the syringe out of the sedative bottle. "It'd probably be good if you could hold her still for me."

For a moment Rodney got a far off look in his eyes that indicated he was considering his options. "Right," he nodded. Lifting his heels to the arm of the sofa, he pushed so he stretched out further, drawing Dr. Weir along until she lay flat against him. He cradled her head away from Carson and the needle with one hand while his other spread securely across her back, leaving her right arm exposed from the elbow up. Rodney didn't seem to be aware of how carefully he did this, but watching the tenderness he used with her caused Carson to blush.

"Okay, here we go." With a quick jab, he injected the drug into Dr. Weir's arm.

"OW!" yelped Rodney.

"What?"

"She bit me," he muttered.

"Now you'll have proof it wasn't a dream."

Rodney glowered at him. "How long until it takes effect?" Dr. Weir had already squirmed free of his embrace and was going after his belt again.

"Oh, a few minutes." Uncomfortable seeing the leader of Atlantis in such a compromising position, Carson closed his bag and went to pick up her jacket and tidy the files on the floor. "Is that coffee I smell?"

"Yes. Do you want some? I'd just finished brewing it when Elizabeth showed up. Do you mind reheating it? I could really use a mug."

"Happy to take care of it." Carson was grateful to have something to do that gave Rodney and Dr. Weir the most privacy possible. A tea drinker by nature, he felt this morning called for something stronger. "How did you manage to get your own coffee pot? This looks-"

"I traded for it with the Athosian glassblower."

"Traded what?"

"Materials to make gold and orange colored glass. They sure do love those earth tones."

"Aye, seems that way." It took a moment to figure out the stove, but it switched on with a reliable click and a quiet breath of blue flame. "How do you get the coffee from Chef?"

"What time is it?" Rodney had that follow-my-logic tone.

Carson rummaged through Rodney's modest yet cluttered pantry for sugar and instant creamer. He wasn't about to drink coffee without whitener in it. "About quarter after six."

"Really? So late?" Rodney sounded worried.

"Yes. Why?"

_What a untidy little kitchen. Mum would have a fit._

"I... Carson, I have a bit of a favor to ask of you."

"Other than making a housecall before the cock's crow?"

"Since when do we have a rooster on Atlantis?"

"Your favor, Rodney?"

It was a moment before he got a response. "I don't want anyone to know about this." Rodney's voice was unusually quiet and serious. "I'm hoping it's still early enough we can get Elizabeth to the infirmary without anyone seeing her. If you have to write a report, I don't want our names in it. She's had enough problems maintaining authority. If word of this got out..."

"I understand. Mum's the word."

"Thanks, Carson." The sincerity in Rodney's voice was nearly the most startling aspect of the morning. "So I take it no one else has come down with any symptoms?"

"Not yet, but it's still early."

_Something to look forward to_, he thought glumly.

"I think you should have everyone in Stackhouse's team under observation."

"As soon as we have Dr. Weir isolated, I plan to do just that." After searching every shelf, Carson came to the conclusion there was only one clean mug. Hastily washing the other one, he rationalized that using it for Rodney's coffee would reduce his chances of exposure to the contagion, assuming it wasn't airborn.

"You suspect it came from Valoosa, too?"

"Aye, unless Dr. Weir has been exploring the city by herself, there's no place else this could have come from." The coffee was nearly back to a boil, so Carson turned off the stove. "You never did tell me how you got coffee out of Chef."

"Oh, yeah." That Rodney sounded distracted was understandable. "When does the mess hall usually open?"

"Half past six... Oh, I see!" Carson nearly burned himself on the coffee pot's makeshift handle. "Aren't you the clever fellow. Milk and sugar?"

"Two sugars, one cream."

Stirring the mugs, curiosity finally got the better of him. "You know, it's not every day a bonny lass throws herself at you. What kept you from getting carried away with the moment?"

"There are any number of reasons," Rodney said offhandedly.

_Oh, really? You make it sound so simple. _

"Such as?" Carson asked innocently.

"Such as she's my boss." He used that isn't-it-obvious tone of his. "Who do you think would be filling the much needed role of janitor if I'd taken advantage of the situation?"

"Good point."

"Besides, this is Elizabeth we're talking about." At this, Rodney's voice lost its surly edge. "She deserves to be treated with respect..."

_Ah, ha!_ "And?"

"...and I couldn't bear it if she hated me." He said it so quietly, Carson might have missed it if he hadn't been walking back into the living area.

"Rodney... Don't tell me you..."

His eyes locked defiantly onto Carson's. "Don't tell you _what_? That I'm human and appreciate companionship like everyone else? That I actually _do_ care what some people think of me?" Rodney's gaze returned to Dr. Weir, one hand stroking her hair as she nuzzled his neck. "I finally feel like I'm where I belong. I don't want to screw that up."

"I thought you preferred blonds," Carson corrected slyly, setting the mugs down on the end table.

"Shut up."

Rodney's voice was so dejected, Carson almost felt guilty for pursuing that particular train of thought, so he changed tracks. "Looks like she's nearly out."

"Here." Rodney reached behind his head and pulled out a blanket. "Spread this on the floor."

Carson did as he was bid and helped Rodney lower the groggy Dr. Weir onto it. She didn't want to let go of her Chief of Science, so he knelt beside her, holding her hand as the sedative slowly pulled her under. Carson offered him a mug, which he grasped with all the determination that a drowning man might a rope.

After a long draught, Rodney sighed. "Why me?"

"That's a very good question."

Rodney gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not as though you have the most accessible room in the city." Carson sipped his coffee.

_Needs more creamer._

"Mind you, Rodney, I'm only speculating, but it seems doubtful she came here by chance."

"You think she knew she was sick and wanted to minimize the spread of her illness?"

"Or perhaps she knew you'd be awake but still in your quarters. Or perhaps she knew you'd figure out what was wrong."

_Or perhaps she came because she always turns to you in a crisis._

"So maybe she _won't_ be mad..." Some of his normal confidence leaked into Rodney's voice. That was enough to indicate he needed no more breaks.

"Time will tell." Carson unwrapped a Power Bar he'd scavenged from the cupboard. "Here, eat this. We've still got a bit to do yet, and I don't want you fainting on me before we get to the infirmary."

With a glare, Rodney set down his coffee, but he took it without comment. "My plan is for you to scout ahead to make sure no one sees us." Bar in hand, he gestured as he talked, seemingly oblivious that his other hand was still clutched in Dr. Weir's grasp. "First will be the hall between here and the transporter; then the hall at the other end of the transporter; then the infirmary itself. For each segment, you'll radio when the coast is clear."

Carson leaned over to pick Rodney's earpiece off the floor, "You might be needing this, then?"

Setting down his half-eaten food, the astrophysicist hastily wiped the receiver on his shirt and popped it in his ear. He gave it a tap, "Hello? Anyone there besides Beckett?"

The result was an off-kilter stereo, hearing live Rodney on the right and synthetic Rodney on the left. "Seems like the channel's still there and secure," offered Carson.

"Good. So how do you plan on making sure the infirmary is empty?" He spoke around a mouthful of Power Bar.

"Oh, that's easy." Carson took another sip of his coffee and tried not to make a face. "The next shift doesn't start until eight, and Komal already knows I'm up. I'll just tell her she can leave early. Night shift almost never gets a break like that, so I'm sure she'll jump at the opportunity."

Rodney bolted down the rest of his coffee, popped the last bit of bar into his mouth then began scooping up the barely conscious Dr. Weir, blanket and all.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" Rodney huffed as he lifted her off the floor. Carson hastily offered a hand to keep him steady as he stood with their boss cradled in his arms.

"Shouldn't you wait a minute to digest?"

"We don't have _time_, Carson. In another half hour, the halls will be full of people going to breakfast and work. We have to go _now_."

"All right, all right." He began stripping off his gloves.

"Before you do that, could you tip the corner of the blanket over her head?" Rodney gestured with his chin. "Just in case we do get spotted, there'll be less chance of anyone recognizing her unless they're close. Oh, and don't forget her jacket. I wouldn't want to have to explain what it's doing in my quarters."

Carson did as he was asked, adding Dr. Weir's jacket to Rodney's load. The Canadian seemed to be unfazed by his task. Perhaps, after all that hauling of equipment on away missions, his current burden was not so difficult. The physician couldn't help but wonder if certain chemicals more natural than caffeine might also be responsible for his friend's level of energy this morning. After all, despite his matter-of-fact attitude, there was still a noticeable blush to Rodney's cheeks.

"Anything else?"

The scientist glanced around, comically spinning in place before looking back up. "I think that's everything."

The door opened on its own, causing Carson a momentary spike of panic before he realized Rodney had activated it with his mind. Removing his gloves, the physician grabbed his bag. Feeling a bit ridiculous, like a child playing 007, he poked his head into the hallway. There was no one nor any sound of footsteps.

"All clear."


	6. Cold Grounds

NOTES: Thank you, again, for all the great reviews! This took a bit longer than I'd planned because my basement flooded and ate up all my writing time for a while. Another chapter from Carson's perspective, this one has a slightly serious spot or two, but you should get a few laughs out of it, too. Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T

* * *

UNION 

PART 6

COLD GROUNDS

They made it to the infirmary without incident, and the night nurse, none the wiser, was out the door in two shakes of a lamb's tail. As smoothly as their plan had gone, by the time Rodney set Dr. Weir on the diagnostic bed, his blush had transformed into a flush of exertion. Concerned, Carson tried to take his blood pressure, but the astrophysicist waved him off.

"Fix her first, _then_ you can fix me," he insisted while buttoning up his shirt. After a loud growl of his stomach, he added, "Do you have anything to eat?"

Carson nodded as he pulled over a pair of wheeled privacy screens to block the view into the examination area. "Power Bar not enough?"

"I'm not used to food and exercise this early." He seemed more self-conscious than concerned. "I think it's thrown me off."

"It could anyone, Rodney. I'll just see what's handy." Pulling out his earpiece, the Scotsman slipped on the labcoat he'd left there the previous night and made his way to his office.

After grabbing the box of crackers and bottle of water he kept in his desk, along with his laptop and a few other technical supplies, Carson rummaged through the nearby refrigerator. Luckily, there was still a nice slab of semisoft Athosian cheese left over from lab testing; Rodney would need the protein. Once he'd scavenged all he could, he headed back with his haul, contemplating his own need for food.

Stepping sideways through the gap between the screens, Carson found Rodney had covered Dr. Weir with a blanket and was carefully slipping a pillow under her head. Curious, he remained in the entry to see what else the Canadian might do. While watching Dr. Weir in an awkward situation might make him uncomfortable, the same was not true when it came to the CoS; Carson always appreciated new material for teasing his egotistical friend.

First, Rodney made sure the blanket and pillow were placed to his satisfaction, his hands making minute adjustments then skipping away, only to return for a slight tug here or there. Finally, after some hesitant hovering, he brushed the hair carefully from her face. "Don't worry." His voice was quiet, reassuring and very unRodney-like. "Carson will have this figured out in no time."

"I'll do my best."

Snatching his hand away like a child caught in the biscuit tin, Rodney rounded on him, his mouth opening wide, plainly intent on vocalizing his outrage. Then the Canadian noticed what Carson was carrying and switched gears, walking up to snatch the food away.

"You're welcome."

"Oh. Thanks, Carson." He waved the box of crackers absently. "I really needed this."

Setting up his laptop and other equipment, Carson settled into the monitor bay's lone chair. He always felt an odd satisfaction that, like Earth computers, there was a slight delay between activating an Ancient device that utilized complex programs and the ability to use it. Seemed even the Ancients couldn't completely overcome that issue. Once the diagnostic bed was warmed up, he began to scan Dr. Weir. Behind him hovered the munching scientist, silenced by the food.

"Hmm."

"'Hmm,' _what_?" demanded the CoS around a mouthful of cracker.

"Seems there's more in common with the disease from the Land of Light than I thought. These readings aren't too far off from last night, except for a slight rise in temperature and..." Carson pointed to the brightly glowing image of Dr. Weir's brain, "a further increase of activity in her frontal lobe." Using the controls, he swiveled the image around and gave his friend a worried look. "The big difference is that whatever is doing this seems to now be targeting the Broca's area, as well." She had been talking fine the night before, and there had been no unusual readings from that part of the brain responsible for the physical act of speech.

"Wait a minute!" Rodney's eyes lit up with comprehension. "Are you saying she hasn't spoken because..."

"She can't speak? Aye. Most likely." That she'd said nothing this morning and the Broca's area was now being affected couldn't be coincidental.

Cracker box clutched in one hand, the Canadian began pacing the monitor terminal. "Oh, God! Oh, God! This is no good. She..." One hand pointed at Elizabeth. "And I..." His hand swung back to touch his lips. "So that means..." Eyes wide with horror, he grabbed Carson by the shoulder to give him a shake. "What'll I do if I can't _speak_?"

"Give us all a wee holiday?" With effort, he managed to say it with a straight face.

The horror transformed instantly into vexation. "Fine." Rodney let him go and threw up his hand. "Make fun of the soon-to-be-mute man."

"Calm down. It's not likely permanent, and it might not come to that."

"It won't?" That soothed the irate scientist...some. "How do you figure...?"

"Extreme afflictions don't tend to pop up overnight." Turning to his laptop, Carson's fingers skimmed across the keyboard as he brought up files for comparison and review. "The possibility that Dr. Weir, alone, contracted some new ailment out of the thousands of people she and Sergeant Stackhouse's team came in contact with seems rather remote. It's probable this is a condition the Valoosans are familiar with. If that's the case, and the effects _are_ permanent, then there should have been some mention of a mute population. There wasn't." It was also the reason he suspected whatever was causing this wasn't airborne.

"So you think she'll be able to talk again?"

"I won't know anything for certain until I can do more testing and review the reports more thoroughly, but, given that there's no reference in Dr. Corrigan's extremely detailed notes, I'm thinking this is not considered life-threatening by the Valoosans." He paused in his perusal of Lieutenant Yamato's medical exams. "The real question is, what's _causing_ these symptoms? I'd thought it was just the effects of the ale-"

"She drank ale?" The thoughtful quality to Rodney's voice caused the physician to look up.

"Aye, but if it had been the ale, her system should have processed it and her condition would have been worse then than now. Why?"

Pulling his gaze away from Dr. Weir, Rodney seemed to give himself a mental shake, like a dog coming out of water. "It's just that..." Carson wasn't sure if he should be amused or concerned that the usually articulate scientist was stumbling over his words. Had he been infected? "She seemed...a bit..._off_ last night."

"You saw her last night?"

_Didn't she say she was tired?_

"Yeah. Peter called, said she was in a good mood but acting a kind of strange."

"And where was Peter?"

Rodney's brow furrowed in response to the tightness in Carson's tone. "In Control. Why?"

_God, let this not be an airborne contagion!_

Carson did his best to maintain a detached, analytical tone. "What else can you tell me about last night?" There was little more he could do until he had some results from Dr. Biro to help point the way, so he might as well compile as much information about the stages of this ailment as possible. "How was her behavior strange?"

"I don't know." Looking down at the box of crackers in his hand, Rodney fiddled with the opening and shrugged. "She was kind of absent-minded...her cheeks were flushed...and..."

_Why is he so uncomfortable about this? _"And?" Fortunately, Carson could touch type, so inputting his findings and holding a conversation at the same time was not a problem.

"She stared at me a lot." He sounded for all the world like a romantically frustrated teenager.

"Really?" Carson couldn't keep the amusement off his face.

Glancing up, Rodney noticed it and grew testy. "What?"

"Well, based on her reactions this morning, it seems whatever's affecting Dr. Weir is removing her inhibitions, but that's not to say it's impacting all of her mental functions."

With an irritated wave at their unconscious leader, the astrophysicist grumbled, "She's obviously in no condition to do her job at the moment, so I don't see the relevance of that distinction."

Turning back to the monitor and altering their perspective of her brain on the screen, Carson elaborated. "The parts of her mind involving facial recognition and emotion seem to be unaffected, and she must have passed the quarters of several dozen men to get to yours." Some part of him couldn't help but wonder at the nature of this illness. It was almost as though it was designed for such an effect.

The Canadian's eyes widened briefly, apparently picking up the implication, then they narrowed dourly and looked away.

"Rodney! I'd think you'd be happy to know that, deep down, she has more than Platonic feelings for you."

"You say this while she's under the influence of some alien virus," he muttered dejectedly, tossing aside the half-consumed box of crackers. "Nice."

"If it were a virus, I would have detected it by now," insisted Carson, all thoughts of data compilation momentarily forgotten in his curiosity, "and it's not as though you don't get along normally."

"All the more reason not to tempt fate." His friend began pacing the monitor bay again.

_Why can't he appreciate the personal impact of this?_

"Seems to me a very good reason to tempt fate."

"Who died and made you matchmaker?"

"You don't find her attractive?"

"I'm hetero and have a pulse; _of course_ I find her attractive!"

"So, you find her attractive, get along and have already kissed..."

With an exasperated sigh, Rodney leaned against the desk opposite the main monitor. "What part of 'she's my boss' are you not getting?"

"That doesn't seem like a significant enough obstacle for such a self-motivated fellow."

"Okay, how about that she's involved with someone else?"

Carson tried to repress his surprise, so it came out with a patronizing lilt. "Oh, really? Who?"

"I don't know." Rodney's hands flew up in frustration. "It's not as though I've ever _met_ the guy."

"Atlantis is not that big..."

"Not someone _here_," he huffed, "someone back on Earth."

_How could he know such a thing unless..._ "Don't tell me she shot you down back in Antarctica!"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "If anything like that had happened, do you really think she'd have included me in the expedition? Besides, it's not as though I hit on every beautiful, intelligent woman I meet."

"If you say so." Carson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in his skepticism. "How do you know, then?"

He jutted his chin and twiddled his fingers beneath it. "The pendant she wears all the time."

"Pendant?"

"The heart shaped one with the diamond." He said it as though it were as obvious as the sky being blue.

Carson shook his head.

Rodney jabbed a finger at the edge of one screen. "She's wearing it now. How have you never noticed?"

"Come to think of it, she was wearing a necklace during her exam yesterday, but I wasn't aware she had a particular habit."

"Well she does."

"But that does not necessarily mean..."

"It's _heart_ shaped with a _diamond_. Might as well be carrying a sign that says 'off limits.'"

"Seems like circumstantial evidence to me. She's never actually said anything?"

"No. She's a very private person."

Carson could tell he was holding back. "Surely, there must be more for you to be so certain."

Rodney looked away. Was that a guilt in his eyes? "Once I walked into her office while she was on the phone with him."

_Oh._

"Have you not thought living in Atlantis makes for a rather trying long-distance relationship?"

"She wears it _every day_, Carson."

"And if she were to stop wearing it?"

This caused the scientist to look past the monitors to Dr. Weir's sleeping face, his expression softening from a scowl into something more thoughtful. "I don't know."

The sound of voices wafted through the infirmary. Glancing at his wrist, Carson realized that, in the morning's haste, he'd forgotten his watch. "Rodney, do you have the time?"

Blinking, the CoS pulled his gaze from the woman on the diagnostic bed. "Damn! It's three after eight." Ignoring Carson, he walked to the far side of the examination area, tapped his ear twice and asked to speak to Dr. Peter Grodin. While his friend made arrangements with the younger scientist, Carson grabbed his earpiece and decided, now that it was safe to do so without raising too many suspicions, it was time to set his own plan in motion.

Slipping on a fresh pair of gloves, he moved to Dr. Weir's side, wrapped a tourniquet around her arm and tapped her vein, though she was so thin that he didn't really need to. She didn't stir as he drew a sample of her blood. After labeling it with the time, he set her up with an I.V. and pulled out another syringe to make his way to Rodney, who seemed to be having an animated conversation with the wall.

"What does it matter?" insisted the CoS. "It needs doing, and I need you to do it. Consider it practice."

Carson had to hold Rodney's arm still in order to prep him to have his blood drawn. Other than a slight flinch, his patient had little reaction to the procedure, though only being able to use one arm to gesture with seemed to quiet him a bit.

"So you understand what you have to do?" Rodney nodded to the person on the other end of the radio. "Good, good. So you'll take care of it?"

"You might say, 'Thank you.'" suggested Carson.

"Thank you, Dr. Zelenka." There was a pause, then Rodney added, a bit of paranoia in his voice, "No, I'm not ill. Why would you say that?"

Carson's snigger gained him a glare from the astrophysicist.

"Right, then. McKay out." Tapping his earpiece to end the connection, the CoS turned his full attention on Carson, ticking off elements of his scheme on one hand. "Tamura will be examining the ale first, just to be sure. Zelenka's covering my meetings, and Peter will come up with excuses for Elizabeth's absence. So long as there are no emergencies, he figures he can take care of things in Control. He's also going to bring down my laptop, so could you bring it to me when it gets here? That way I can keep up with everything I don't need to do in person."

"So you've told Peter?" He pulled the full syringe from Rodney's arm and taped a cotton ball over the spot.

"Not all the details, but he knows Elizabeth's sick and is more than happy to keep it under wraps."

"Aye, he's a good lad." Looking up from applying the label to the vial, he wondered. "You be telling the Major, then?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." This was said slightly more emphatically than the first.

_Is he worried the Major will find out he...? _Carson grinned. "Really?"

"Do I need to say 'no' again?"

He held up a hand to ward off the Canadian's ire. "I was thinking, given the possible risk to the city, the Major should-"

"You said yourself this probably isn't a threatening situation." He swept a hand in the direction of the diagnostic bed. "So far, Elizabeth's the only one with symptoms. When it becomes a known danger, I'll tell him, but until then, he doesn't need to know." There was a tight certainty to Rodney's words that precluded argument, let alone jest.

"Aye." The physician nodded to further demonstrate support for the decision. "For now, it's still a private matter."

There was the tiniest hint of relief in the Canadian's eyes before they glanced to the vials in Carson's hands. "How long until you get the results?" He pointed at the items in question, adding emphasis to the change of subject.

"A few hours, seeing as we do not quite know what we're looking for. I'll just be along to drop these off with Dr. Biro. She should be in her lab by now." Stashing the vials in his labcoat pocket, he nodded around the examination area. "Mind you don't touch anything. If you cannot wait for your own laptop, at least wash your hands and put on gloves before using mine."

"Yes, yes." Muttered Rodney as he made his was to the bathroom.

Beyond the privacy screens, Carson ran into a primary shift nurse before he was halfway across the infirmary.

"Good morning, Dr. Beckett." It was the blond one Rodney was always pestering. "Komal said you had an early call. Do you need help with anything?"

"Good morning, Sarah. Aye, I've been busy, but I'll manage. Please let Dr. Martin know I'll be working on an experiment today and require exclusive access to the examination area. He'll have to cover any regular work that might come through."

"Okay." She seemed slightly puzzled but didn't say anything else.

Carson waved as he walked out the door, relieved to escape without further discussion. Once alone, he popped his earpiece in and tapped it twice.

"Control, here."

_Is that the American or the Canadian?_

"Is Dr. Grodin there?"

"No, sir."

"Please patch me through to him and make the connection secure."

"Yes, sir."

_The American? Wonder if he'll think to mention this to the Major. As if I haven't played 007 enough this morning!_

"This is Grodin." There was a faint click to indicate the connection was secure. "Really, Rodney, I can only walk so quickly."

"It's me, Peter."

"Oh! Sorry, Carson." The younger man's voice was sincerely apologetic. "Is Dr. Weir all right?"

"For the time being. So Rodney's got you hopping?"

"Actually, fetching him food and his laptop is the least of my worries. Do you have any idea of how much work Dr. Weir does?"

"I can imagine. I know you're going to have a tough day and hate to add to your burdens..."

"But you need help, too?" Peter laughed. "Well, it's not as though you'd want to recruit more people. What can I do for you?"

"While you're getting food for Rodney, do you mind adding enough for me? I've had naught but coffee and feel right peckish." Carson's stomach growled in affirmation.

"Already done." Smugness flavored the observation.

"Aren't you the clever fellow!"

"Anything else?"

Carson sighed. "I need to get Sergeant Stackhouse's team into the infirmary and isolated. Another secure call might draw too much attention, and as this is likely their day off, they probably aren't on the comm anyway. Of course, my visiting each man in turn would be even more conspicuous..."

Peter's voice was thoughtful. "You could always email Stackhouse."

"There's no guarantee he would get it any time soon." Not everyone checked their email as religiously as did most of the scientific staff.

"Which ones would you like me to talk to?" There was no resignation in Peter's tone, just the matter-of-fact attitude Carson had always appreciated.

"I was thinking Dr. Corrigan and the Lieutenant; I'll handle the Marines."

"You know where their rooms are?"

"Aye. We'll tell them we need to do some more testing."

"I'm almost to the infirmary-"

"Speedy! Just drop everything in my office. Try to avoid anyone else, if you can."

"Right. Is that all?"

"That's more than enough, I think! Good luck, lad. I'll email you later when I know anything certain."

"Thank you. Grodin out."

Stashing the radio in his pocket, Carson rang the chime to Dr. Biro's lab.

"Come in!" Her voice was far too cheerful for so early in the morning, but it was always that way. Of course, he'd chosen her for her qualifications, not her demeanor. The combination of experience, a broad spectrum of expertise, security clearance and minimal family had made her the ideal candidate. That she worked with others as well as she could run a lab solo was an added bonus.

The door opened and Carson entered the cluttered yet neatly arranged workroom of Atlantis' head pathologist. Amongst the antiseptic odors that filled the place was a fresh, minty smell he soon realized was Dr. Biro's herbal tea.

_One can only imagine how much energy she'd have if she drank caffeine._

"Good morning, Dr. Biro."

Looking up from her microscope, she gave Carson a smile. "Good morning! I've just started on the samples from the second Valoosa trip." She nodded at the rack of blood-filled vials Nurse Anderson had dropped off the night before. The hint of condensation on the them indicated they'd been removed from refrigeration for some time, suggesting Dr. Biro had started work before eight, as was her tendency.

"Anything interesting?"

She shook her head, her straight, blond hair wagging like a dog's ears. "Not so far. Why?"

_How to phrase this?_

"Well, there's been a bit of a reaction that has brought up questions about the food." Pulling the still-warm vials from his pocket, he continued, "So I'd like to add these to those you're testing."

"Not a problem." She placed the vials in the rack with the others. "Is there anything specific I should be looking for?"

"Chemicals that effect the brain," he said vaguely.

"_All_ chemicals affect the brain. Could you be more specific?" Her gaze was guileless and honestly curious.

"Of course." He shifted from one foot to the other in nervous contemplation. "Some of the tests showed elevated activity in the frontal lobe. I'd like to isolate the cause so Dr. Tamura can specifically address the issue." It wasn't a complete fabrication; something in the food could well be responsible. He added with a smile, "You know how much she and Chef are looking forward to fresh produce."

"Along with the rest of us!" Dr. Biro laughed; she was one of Atlantis' vegetarians. "But there are lots chemicals that could elevate activity in the frontal lobe. Knowing the symptoms would help me narrow it down."

There was no way around it. "The effects are similar to inebriation only without impaired motor functions. Intense yet distracted focus, impaired articulation and personal restraint..."

"So I should be testing blood alcohol?"

"Aye. That could be a factor, but it looks to be something we've never come across before."

"A challenge!" She seemed genuinely pleased.

"I'm glad you see it that way." Carson debated asking Dr. Biro to keep the results confidential, but as only he and Anderson knew which samples belonged to which people, there was no need. "Please send me your results as you get them."

"Will do."

"Thank you, Dr. Biro." With a nod, Carson turned to leave.

"Any time!" she called after him.

_One down, two to go._

With a determined stride that deterred those he passed from trying to stop him for a chat, Carson made his way to the hall the Marines had claimed as their own. He was surprised to find a pair of potted plants at one end and hear Mozart coming from an open door. Naturally, he wasn't fortunate enough to find Sergeant Stackhouse and his teammate in their quarters, though he ran into Sergeant Markham, who suggested looking for them in the gym.

The Marines' gym was rather different from the one the Athosians had used, which Teyla now employed to teach her people's martial arts to all those interested in learning it. This gym was long and rectangular, with a high ceiling and colorless glass windows along one wall, tingeing the place with the hues of the ocean that dominated the spectacular view. Half a dozen men populated the place, one pair playing one-on-one with a basketball Carson imagined must have been someone's personal item from Earth. Unfortunately, none of them were the Marines he was looking for.

"Hi, doc."

Carson turned to find Lieutenant Ford beside him, dressed in an old T-shirt and shorts. "Oh, good morning."

"Come to shoot some hoops?" Atlantis' second in command gave him a cheeky grin that suggested he'd like to see the Scottish doctor try his hand at the fast-paced American sport.

_Sometimes, he can be as cheerful as Dr. Biro._ "No. I'm just looking for Sergeant Stackhouse and Corporal Lumano."

Without batting an eye, the Lieutenant turned and bellowed, "Hey! You guys seen Stackhouse and Lumano?"

_So much for being inconspicuous!_

"Showers," grunted the Marine using the makeshift weights. The man spotting him nodded in agreement.

"Well, then." Carson made his way to the bathroom attached to the gym.

"Sure you don't want to give it a shot?" The young man was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic about the prospect. "I'll spot you five points."

"Thank you, Lieutenant, but I've got a lot on my plate today. Maybe another time."

"You just say when!"

As one of the larger public bathing facilities in the city, the bathroom had no trouble keeping up with the moisture produced by two of its many showers. The lack of haze allowed him and the Sergeant to spot each other at the same time.

Looking up from tying his boots, the young Marine's face grew immediately concerned. "Something wrong?"

_Ach! Does it show?_

Not wanting to alarm either of them, Carson applied a bit of misdirection. "Only that I've had to wander over half of Atlantis to find the two of you."

Sergeant Stackhouse didn't seem to buy his diversion, but, before he say anything, Corporal Lumano piped up.

"So what brings you here, doc?" If he had any concerns, they didn't show as he turned off his shower and vigorously toweled his head dry.

"There have been some results that have me worried about the food you ate yesterday."

"More testing?" asked the Corporal.

"I'm afraid so."

The team leader was already packing his gym bag. "When do you need us?"

"As soon as you can get to the infirmary, though I'd pick up something to keep you busy on the way. You might be there for a while."

"Yamato and Corrigan?"

"They've already been contacted, Sergeant." When Carson's stomach growled, he added, "You've both had breakfast?"

They nodded.

"Good. I'll see you there."

Once he returned to the infirmary, Carson had to commandeer a medical cart to carry all the food and equipment Peter had left on his desk, as well as a chair for Rodney. Dr. Martin was occupied with his own research, and the nurses were busy doing the weekly inventory, the medical staff's means of making sure the pressure of Atlantis wasn't causing anyone to look for chemical stress aids. So even with all the noise he made, no one paid him any mind.

Pushing the cart through the gap in the privacy curtains, Carson found Rodney had moved his laptop and chair so he might sit beside Dr. Weir while he worked. Without looking up, the scientist waved a gloved hand.

"Carson, did you read how obsessed with babies these people are?"

"Aye. Dr. Corrigan says it's their cultural response to the Wraith." Carson set up the folding chair on the other side of Dr. Weir, using the cart as a desk for Rodney's laptop. "The more children they have..."

"...the more people will survive the next culling. Yes, but did you read about this 'birthing season'? It seems that the vast majority of Valoosans are born during a certain time of the year to maximize food and labor output."

"That makes sense, given their planet's extreme seasons." Sitting down, the hungry physician tucked into the toast and sausage Peter had brought down for him, ignoring that both were now cold.

"Yes, very sensible. But how do you manage," Rodney looked over at him, gesturing to the woman between them, "to get the majority of your child bearing women pregnant _at the same time_? More importantly, were you aware that it's about nine months before the birthing season?"

Carson stopped, food halfway to his open mouth. Setting down his fork, he hastened around the diagnostic bed to peer over Rodney's shoulder at the report on the computer. "You think it's intentional?"

"It would explain a lot."

"But I just saw two of the team members, and they were fine."

"Perhaps, whatever they do, it only affects the women?"

"I'll have a better idea once Dr. Biro's test results start coming in."

"Some may have already." The Canadian pointed to an icon in one corner of the screen. "Your account shows new email."

Typing in his password, Carson found Dr. Biro had already finished testing for blood alcohol, but the results showed more, not less, alcohol in Dr. Corrigan's blood than Dr. Weir's. So maybe the ale had nothing to do with it, after all. Dr. Corrigan hadn't been acting too strangely the night before, and today...

Hastily, Carson emailed Peter, taking the seat Rodney vacated so he might work on his computer directly. Peter replied in under a minute; he'd had no trouble with Dr. Corrigan, who seemed to be behaving normally. This reminded him four men in need of isolation should be arriving at any moment. He stood, but Rodney put a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to sit.

"Is this all you've had today?" The CoS held Carson's breakfast plate with disapproval. "You may not be hypoglycemic, but you still need food. We're not going anywhere, and you'll do a better job of fixing us on a full stomach. I'd prefer to be cured sooner rather than later, so eat."

Despite the professed selfish motivation, Carson was touched by Rodney's concern. Sitting, he took the plate and finished his breakfast while Rodney mumbled complaints as he reviewed his email and read reports.

Once he'd secreted Dr. Weir and Rodney into an isolation room, the rest of the day was spent with interviewing and retesting Sergeant Stackhouse's team, another round of blood work and coordinating Dr. Tamura's efforts with Dr. Biro's tests.

It wasn't often he got to see the CoS in action, and it surprised Carson how Rodney succeeded in getting the most of his people, even in the midst of a surly mood. There were less than two dozen medical staff members, so it was relatively easy to keep track of everyone individually. But the scientists outnumbered the medical and military personnel combined, giving Rodney at least twice the work he or the Major had to deal with. In his visits to their room--Rodney had rationalized he was the only one who could watch Dr. Weir in the physician's absence --Carson heard him coerce, cajole and con his various staff members into following his vision of where their research should be headed. While Rodney's management style wasn't one he'd choose for himself, he couldn't deny its effectiveness. He'd always wondered if Dr. Weir had made Rodney the CoS merely because she needed him and he wouldn't work well under someone else. Now he knew better, but Carson wasn't completely sure how much of Rodney's skills were an extension of his naturally officious manner and how much were the result of trying to justify Dr. Weir's faith in him.

While visiting to take a sample from Dr. Weir's stomach, Carson was given a bit of a surprise.

"Rodney!" He set down his tray so he might use his disgruntled physician pose to maximum effect. "What have you done with yourself?"

The Canadian looked up from his laptop, confused. "What?"

"You're bleeding."

"What!" Rodney shot from his chair and spun around, looking for some sign of a wound. "Where?"

"Sit down, or you might make it worse." The CoS meekly obeyed, still glancing around himself while Carson fished out the necessary supplies to address the problem. "Looks like she bit you a bit harder than I realized. Have you scratched it recently?"

Reaching a hand to his ear, Rodney let out an unhappy huff when he pulled it away bloody. Then he tugged at his shirt to discover the stains on his collar. "Damn! This was one of my good shirts."

Carson could hardly condemn the man for vanity when resources were so precious. After all, he'd been down for two days over breaking the China teacup he'd smuggled from Earth. "Hold still." With quick, efficient moves, he swabbed the trio of tiny cuts and taped up his friend's ear.

"Great. Now I'm stuck wearing this until who knows when."

"Just ask Peter to bring you a pullover."

"I don't like his cologne."

"Then I'll lend you one of mine."

"White makes me look pudgy."

It was difficult not to laugh. "And who's going to see you but me?"

Rodney's gaze skimmed quickly across Dr. Weir, then away. "What's the latest?"

"Well, we keep adding to the things it's not," he moved to the other side of Dr. Weir and prepared a local anesthetic, "but no breakthroughs so far. Anything on your end?"

"No narcotics, though Tamura thinks one of the plants would be good for making soap." The scientist turned away as Carson pulled up Dr. Weir's shirt to give her the shot.

"Doesn't sound too appetizing." With a quick jab, he injected the drug, causing his slumbering patient to let out a little noise of pain.

That got Rodney to turn back around. "What was that for?" His voice and posture were confrontational.

"So she won't feel this." Carson held up the long-needled syringe he'd be using. "I need a sample of what's in her stomach. Would you rather I go down her throat for it?"

Blanching, Rodney backed off and turned around again. "Will you be doing that to all of us?"

"Aye. More than likely."

"This day just keeps getting better."

Despite Rodney's misgivings, the uncomfortable procedure turned out to be the most useful. Once he got Dr. Weir's sample under a microscope, the problem practically leapt out at him. After recalibrating the diagnostic bed's scans and running a few tests, his course of action was clear. Having finally discovering the culprit, it was time to administer a cure.

He found the lads in isolation were in the middle of a poker game for M&Ms. After passing out medication and instructing them to be extra careful, as though they had a contagious flu, he sent them on their way. Everyone but Yamato, who was winning by a fair margin, jokingly protested at their physician's poor timing.

Upon arriving in the other isolation room, Carson was a bit surprised that Rodney could read his expression so easily. The CoS actually stood up in his anticipation. "You've figured it out?"

"It's a bacteria."

"A bac..." Rodney began pacing. "Wouldn't that be in her blood? Why didn't it show on the initial exam? Don't you have tests for that sort of thing?" It came out as a jumbled rush.

"The equipment is primarily set up to detect viruses, not bacteria. After all, there are hundreds of benign and beneficial varieties. And no, it's not in her blood; it's in her digestive tract, where most bacteria in the human body live. This particular strain is giving off anandamide and phenylethyamine and is somehow inhibiting the production of seratonin."

"Bacterial chocolate?"

Carson couldn't help but laugh at his friend's quick food analogy, its cleverness assuring him Rodney's infection was probably not going to be an issue. "You could call it that, but only if you could concentrate the chemical effects of twenty kilos into a few grams."

The Canadian whistled appreciatively. "So where did it come from?"

"We haven't quite figured that out, yet, but I'm confident it was in something she ate."

"She? So the others-"

"They have it, but in significantly lower amounts."

"And me?"

"Aye. You have it, too."

"What about you? And Peter and that nurse?"

"No evidence so far."

At this, the CoS nodded thoughtfully. "Looks like we might have dodged a bullet. So the plan is to...?"

"Put us all on antibiotics for now and keep testing." He handed Rodney a bottle of water and pills in a plastic cup. "Bottoms up."


	7. Aftertaste

NOTES: We end as we began, with Elizabeth's perspective. Thank you all for letting me know how much you've enjoyed this; every review makes my days happier. Gosh, but I love ffnet! Blazesg2, we were fortunate enough to not lose anything irreplaceable, though the basement carpet is another matter. Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T

* * *

UNION 

PART 7

AFTERTASTE

She felt lethargic, as though weighed down by heavy blankets. Floating slowly to the surface of consciousness, she became dimly aware of voices and a sense of space that indicated she was not in her own bed. Somehow, this didn't disturb her. After all, she remembered wanting to be elsewhere, needing to find someone. There had been warmth and strong arms holding her, yet even in her daze, she knew it had not been Simon--he was impossibly far away. This, too, did not startle her. Despite her indistinct and inexplicable recollections, she felt no anxiety of any sort. Indeed, it was as though her whole body was suffused with a sense of well being, as though all were right with the world. She stretched, as she often did upon waking, and gave a contented little grunt.

"Elizabeth?"

Lazily, she opened her eyes to find an anxious Canadian hovering over her. Not wanting him to be anxious, she gave him a smile. "Rodney." He was in one of those zip-up shirts that brought out the blue in his eyes.

Turning his head, his gaze remained on her as he called with an apprehensive lilt, "Carson, she's awake."

_Why is he nervous? _Somehow she sensed it wasn't just her welfare that was responsible.

"Aye. Be there shortly," came the accented reply from somewhere beyond the privacy curtains. Oddly, it didn't concern her that she was in the infirmary.

Hopping off a stool, Rodney shifted from one foot to the other before asking, "Do you remember what happened?"

_Not, "How are you feeling?"_

Even as his oversight tempted her curiosity, she focused on his question as he helped her adjust the bed so she wasn't flat on her back, but she was only able to pull up snatches of her immediate past. "I remember Peter saying he had the spices for alu gobi. The rest of your team gave me chocolate in congratulations for my mission to Valoosa. You were mad at me for not taking a gun." She chuckled at this. "But it turned out all right in the end, didn't it?"

Glancing away from her, he muttered, "That's open to debate."

"What happened to your ear?"

In the middle of lifting his hand to his bandaged lobe, he self-consciously stopped himself. "It's nothing. Do you know why you're here, how you got here?"

Considering this for a moment, she confessed, "I remember feeling a bit strange when I got back, like I was tipsy. In the morning, I felt feverish and had a compulsion to see someone." Relief and disappointment warred on her CoS's face. "Why? What happened?"

Blushing, Rodney's gaze dropped to her lips before he looked away. He opened his mouth then closed it, frowning slightly, obviously uncertain what to say. She had never seen him blush before; it was different from when his cheeks were flushed with anger or fear. Some part of her was amused by it, but it begged the question...

_Why is he blushing?_

The privacy curtain was pulled back, and a smiling Carson stepped to her bedside, a small flashlight in his hand. "How are you feelin', lass?" he asked, shining the light in each eye and noting the results on a chart.

"Exceptionally good, so much so that I'm wondering why I'm in the infirmary."

"That good feelin' is likely the aftereffects of your illness." He slipped a cuff around her arm and took her blood pressure, filling the device with air then releasing it slowly.

"Illness?"

"Aye." The physician lifted her wrist in one hand while looking at his watch on the other. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Wednesday?"

"It's Thursday," corrected Rodney.

This didn't bother her, either, and she smiled to assuage her CoS' worried look. His response was difficult to read, one she hadn't seen before, shy and almost wistful.

"Can you sit up?"

She pulled her attention back to Carson. "I think so."

With a hand on her back, he helped her to sit. This was how she became aware she was in a hospital gown, not that she really cared. After all, didn't it make sense she would be?

Slipping a cold stethoscope onto her bare back, Carson instructed her to, "Breathe deep."

"I'll...just be going." Looking away, Rodney turned. There were a few tapping sounds before he bent down, revealing a wheeled tray with a laptop and a peek of dark boxers above his belt line. While one part of her fixated unabashedly on this personal detail, another part noted that he'd been with her long enough to have used up the battery in his computer.

Carson slipped a thermometer into her ear while Rodney wrapped up the dangling wires of his power converter. Tucking his laptop under one arm, the Canadian made his way to the gap in the curtains.

"Rodney..." This got him to look over his shoulder at her. "Thank you." She wasn't sure what she was thanking him for, but she felt compelled to do so.

His expression softened, and he gave her a rare, sincere smile, the one normally reserved for scientific successes. "Any time."

As he left, a tiny breeze of sadness blew across her contentment. It took the beeping of the thermometer to draw her gaze away from the space Rodney had last occupied. Looking to Carson, she asked, "What's the verdict?"

Jotting her temperature on her chart, he replied, "You seem ta be recoverin' nicely."

"Recovering from what, exactly?" Slowly, she felt herself growing more lucid as she slipped free of the last tendrils of sleep.

"A bacterial infection." He gave her a wary smile. "But it's a bit more complicated than that."

Elizabeth gestured at her surroundings, which is how she became aware of her I.V. "I don't seem to be going anywhere, so why don't you explain it to me?"

He heaved a contemplative sigh. "It seems there's more ta this Union ceremony than just matchin' brides and grooms." Setting his things on the tray, he perched on the stool Rodney had vacated. "Accordin' ta our estimates, their birthin' season starts in about nine months."

"Timing is everything."

"Aye, but the Valoosans definitely have a hand in that timin'."

She raised a curious eyebrow. "What does that have to do with..."

Giving his knees a slap, he offered, "I'll just cut to the chase."

Elizabeth nodded to encourage him to continue.

"There are a number of unusual plant and animal behaviors on Valoosa that are the result of evolvin' on a world with such unusual seasons. The bacteria that infected you can survive at extremes of heat and cold and responds to specific temperatures in specific ways. We believe it ta be part of nature's way of jumpstartin' spring."

"An ale that jumpstarts spring, huh?"

Carson shook his head with a grin. "Actually, it was in the bread, not the ale, however, when combined with the heat of the digestive tract and particular compounds unique ta the ale, the bacteria become more active. It's really quite fascinatin'."

"So they slipped me a Mickey?"

"Aye, in a manner of speakin'. The chemicals given off by the bacteria reduce inhibitions and increase sexual urges."

_Sexual urges?_ Thinking of Rodney's bandaged ear, she asked, "Did I...do anything...untoward?"

There was a wicked twinkle in Carson's eye as he waved the thought away. "Nothin' worth mentionin'."

"Did Rodney...?" She gave her medical gown a meaningful tug.

"He was the perfect gentleman, would not let you do anythin' ta shame yourself." The physician gave his bearded chin a thoughtful rub and seemed to be repressing a smile. "He was awfully worried how this might affect your authority and went out of his way ta keep the whole incident secret. Used a secure channel ta wake me before the cock's crow and carried you here himself while I played scout so no one would see."

_So the warmth and strong arms were Rodney's. That would explain why he's so worried about my memory. _

Yet she couldn't help but wonder about the specific source of his concern. Was he afraid she might be upset with him about what had happened, because he'd seen her in a compromising state? She'd once stumbling across a respected professor while he was in the midst of an alcoholic binge. It had taken weeks of his being hostile and her being awkward before they had overcome that revelation. Or perhaps Rodney was uncomfortable about having crossed personal boundaries? Despite his occasional revealing monolog, Rodney was a very private man, and this certainly blurred the line between public and private life. Even though she had been subject to his accessing gaze--like nearly every other woman in Atlantis--he had always kept that aspect of himself carefully tucked away, never expressing any overt interest in her. What must it have been like for him to have her suddenly seek him out? She'd had to reject the advances of a superior once, and she'd lost her job as a result. Surely he didn't think she'd do the same, especially given the circumstances? Whether out of respect, discomfort, lack of interest or fear for his job, he had resisted temptation, and she was grateful for it. How many others would have done the same?

"He also made sure your duties were taken care of," continued Carson. "Peter took charge of Control while Rodney kept track of things from his laptop. Dr. Zelenka helped a bit with that. Fortunately, Major Sheppard's team wasn't expected ta go on a mission, so there was no need for anyone ta be aware Rodney spent the day in the infirmary."

_All that effort, but to what end?_ "So, who knows I've been sick?"

The Scotsman gave a resigned snort. "I would think the whole city knows by now, though just we three are aware of the particulars."

"But what about Stackhouse and the rest of his team? And Halling?"

"Only you and Dr. Corrigan ate the bread and drank the ale, so only you two were exposed ta its full potential. Dr. Corrigan was on antibiotics for another ailment, so he didn't come down with any symptoms."

"Aren't I the lucky one?"

Giving her his no-self-pity head tilt, Carson suggested, "Surely it's not so bad. When was the last time you have felt this good, this rested?"

Elizabeth considered it for a moment. "You're right." Then she smirked at the thought, "You'll have to be sure no one learns about the details, or we could be in for some trouble."

"Can you imagine Rodney unable ta speak?"

She couldn't, and the thought of it bothered her on some level.

Carson laughed. "He was right scared at the prospect, I'll tell you that! He'd never risk it for any amount of pleasant side effects, let alone tell anyone else so they could try it and possibly spread it ta him."

"Wait." Holding up her hand, she caused him to stop chuckling. "I couldn't speak?"

"Oh." He looked a bit sheepish. "I forgot ta tell you about that part?"

"Yes, you did."

With a wave, he dismissed it. "Really, that was the least of it."

She was debating about fishing for more details when she remembered. "'There's so much I want to say.' 'Words will just get in the way.'"

"What was that?" There was worry mixed with the curiosity in his eyes.

"Part of a Valoosan love song," she explained with a grin.

He returned her smile. "Has a different meanin', knowin' what we do now."

The greater implications finally dawned on her, leeching away some of her tranquility. "So much for finding a source of fresh produce."

"Now, don't be down about that." Carson reached out and patted her hand. "While we should not risk grains or sugar, and lettuce and the like won't survive the process, Dr. Tamura and I believe we can figure out an easy way of decontaminatin' most thick-skinned fruits and vegetables--squash, apples, potatoes and such. From what I understand, Valoosa wasn't goin' ta solve all our problems, anyway. We'll be gettin' enough from them ta make it worthwhile."

Naturally, the mention of the botanist reminded Elizabeth of another issue. "Poor Dr. Tamura. I hope I can still get her boots back to her in some reasonable condition."

"Not to worry, Rodney took care of it."

"Rodney?" She blinked at the physician in amused disbelief. "He voluntarily cleaned someone else's muddy boots?"

Carson tisked at her. "The man may tolerate organized clutter, but can be right fastidious. Besides, returnin' Dr. Tamura's boots in a timely manner was all a part of the ruse meant ta hide your illness. That, and, since he was already infected, he figured he might as well be the one ta do it."

_Maybe he just wanted to make up for being mad at me before I left._

"Well, that's one less thing I have to do. Which leaves me with the question of what's keeping me here."

Hopping off the stool, he moved to her side. "I'll be wantin' ta scan you for the bacteria, see how that's goin', but before that, why don't we just see if you can stand?"

This got him another raised eyebrow. "Did it affect my ability to stand?"

"No, but we had ta keep you heavily sedated until we could start you on the cure."

Deciding she didn't want to worry just yet about why she needed heavy sedation, she took his proffered hand and slid off the bed. Carson held her steady, but his effort was unnecessary. Leaning back, she sat on the edge of the bed and flexed her legs.

"My knees seem a bit grumpy, but other than that..."

Nodding, Carson removed her I.V. and bandaged the spot, then he left her to get dressed. Once she was done with the diagnostic bed, which showed her normal digestive flora taking over, she was given antibiotics, instructions to eat yogurt daily and sent on her way. By eleven, she had showered, changed and was back in her office as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, though she found herself smiling more than usual.

While there had been a few "welcome back"s and "glad you're feeling better"s, no one seemed too concerned about her brief absence. This made her feel both reassured that her people could manage without her and a little put out that it seemed to have been so easy for them. It also underscored Rodney's anxiety. Based on his earlier reactions, he seemed uncomfortable about discussing what had happened. Despite her own curiosity, she didn't want to have to walk on egg shells around him, hoping to rediscover their interpersonal equilibrium again. He was her CoS; they had to work together every day. Plus, she dreaded the prospect of having to rebuild their rapport. If pretending nothing had happened was what he needed to once again be comfortable with her, then she was willing to set aside her desire for the details. Either way, she knew she needed to reassure him, to let him know everything was okay between them.

Elizabeth puzzled over how she might do that while she started up her laptop. Next to it was the note Lieutenant Ford had written and Teyla and the Major had signed. Somehow, Peter had managed to run Control without needing to access her office, and the neatly folded piece of paper was where she'd left it two nights ago. Tucking the note into a pocket, she was reminded of the chocolate bar that had come with it. Opening the decorative box in which she'd stashed it, she found the little green pouch she'd brought back from Valoosa. The muffled sound of dried beans rattling around piqued her interest. Impulsively, she set the chocolate aside and opened the little bag, pouring the contents on her desk: three blue beans and three brown.

_Six!_ She laughed at herself. _I'd have to start getting busy to meet that benchmark!_

"Something funny?"

Looking up, she smiled at her CoS standing stiffly in the door, a collection of folders in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. He had his normal, confident air about him, but his eyes told a different story.

_What did I do that has him so worried? Or maybe it's what he did...?_

"Good morning, Rodney." She said it as though she hadn't seen him earlier. "Come in. Have a seat."

As he hesitated, scanning her face, she remembered him leaning over her desk with concern in his eyes. A little part of her heart stirred at the memory. Of all the people in Atlantis, or Earth for that matter, she seemed to be the only one he worried about upsetting.

_Does he think I'd demote him?_

At last, he entered the room, resting his files and mug on her desk as he sat, like a boundary between them.

"What have you got?"

Glancing around in uncertainty, his gaze finally settled on her. "If you're not ready..."

Offering him a reassuring smile, she gave the chocolate a good snap and took half, passing the rest toward him in its tempting golden wrapper.

"Tell me."

He glanced warily from her face to the chocolate and back before reaching out to draw the offering through the gap between his reports and coffee. "Thank you."

_Rodney never says "Thank you."_

"You _are_ ill!"

Both were surprised by the interruption, which caused Rodney to turn abruptly in his seat.

"Dr. Zelenka," Elizabeth calmly greeted the bespectacled scientist in her doorway.

"I beg your pardon, Dr. Weir." He gave a gesture to further his apology. "I came to speak to you about Dr. McKay's behavior."

Oddly, the Czech was one of the few leading scientists in Atlantis who _hadn't_ filed a complaint against the CoS; that he wanted to talk about Rodney was slightly disconcerting. Before she could ask what he meant, Rodney beat her to the punch.

"What's wrong with my behavior?" he snapped.

The smaller man folded his arms across his chest. "Normally or recently?" He said it with an expression that made him look as if her were talking to a child.

Knowing it would make Rodney even more irate, Elizabeth spoke before he could. "Gentlemen." They turned to face her as one, their bright blue eyes and attentiveness causing her to smile. "I'd like to thank you both for your efforts yesterday."

"Thank us?" Dr. Zelenka wondered aloud.

Nodding, Elizabeth explained, "With Dr. McKay's involvement in more away missions, there will be times when he won't be here and his duties will need to be handled by others. He was just reporting the positive results of our little experiment."

"Experiment?"

Rodney wisely kept his mouth shut, but his eyes widened in understanding and surprise.

"He wanted to demonstrate that, in the event he was required to remain in the infirmary for any great length of time, he could cover the responsibilities of his position from his laptop with the help of a few key members of the staff."

At this, the Czech raised an eyebrow.

"He says you did an excellent job."

Dr. Zelenka's other eyebrow joined the first before they both lowered into a doubtful frown. "This was all a test?"

"Practice," corrected Rodney in a tone that implied the word had significance as part of a context his colleague should understand but she didn't.

The two men exchanged looks, one suspicious, the other challenging, but they said nothing.

Clearing her throat to get their attention, Elizabeth queried, "Now that's cleared up, was there anything else you needed?"

Raising his hands in defeat, Dr. Zelenka shrugged. "My apologies for disturbing you."

"It's quite all right. Thank you, again, for all your efforts."

Dr. Zelenka blinked under the full force of her brightest smile, smiling shyly in return. With a nod, he turned and left.

"Damn, you're good."

Returning her gaze to Rodney, she gave him an admonishing tilt of her head.

He responded with a slight blush but didn't look away. "You know what I mean. Your being ill after an away mission is understandable, but me..."

"It was the least I could do, especially after everything you did for me yesterday." Some part of her insisted on remembering the warmth and strong arms just then. Glancing down self-consciously, she busied herself with putting the beans back in their bag. "After all, who else can we rely on if not each other?" Looking back up, she saw a myriad of emotions in his eyes. Wanting to settle his apparent internal debate, she added, "We're partners in all this." Leaning back, she raised her arms in a gesture meant to encompass all of Atlantis. "It takes more than research and diplomacy to make it work; sometimes we've got to watch each other's back."

After holding her gaze for a thoughtful moment, he glanced at her throat then his hands. They moved, as though suddenly reminded they'd been unusually still. Lifting his gaze, head and hands as one, he opened his mouth only to be drowned out by a growl from his stomach. Hands falling, his expression settled into one of pained patience.

Chuckling, Elizabeth glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon.

"Why don't we go to the mess hall and talk about those reports over lunch?"

She could practically see him shifting whatever mental baggage he was carrying as the doubt left his eyes and a lopsided grin spread across his face. "I think that's the best idea I've heard all day."

Satisfied that life would finally get back to normal--as normal as life could get in another galaxy--she wrapped her partially-eaten chocolate in a tissue and restashed it in the box with her bag of beans. Reminding Rodney to take her peace offering, she made sure the golden wrapper and its contents left with him, though he was careful not to stick it in a pocket where it might melt. Together, they left her office to face whatever new challenges laid ahead.

FIN


End file.
